


Mordred and Isobel

by AriaRose7



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Arthurian, Camelot, F/M, Fantasy, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Half-Sibling Incest, Love Triangle, M/M, Magic, Male Homosexuality, Mother-Son Relationship, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriaRose7/pseuds/AriaRose7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the only legitimate child of Arthur, Isobel feels a great deal of pressure to be the perfect daughter and heir for the sake of Camelot. Upon meeting Mordred, she feels drawn him unaware of who he is or the dangers he will bring to the kingdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

            Cradling his tiny infant in his arm, Arthur Pendragon held up his other arm lifting up his gray cape, used for disguise, to shelter the child from the pouring rain. He walked along the dark damp roads in hopes of finding someone, anyone, to care for the child, but had no fortune in doing so.

 

            He sat under a nearby roof and held up the child, rivers of tears rising up in his eyes.

 

            “Mordred, my son,” Arthur uttered remorsefully. “I am truly sorry it has to be this way for my heart desires nothing more than for you to stay here with me in Camelot and be my one true heir.”

 

            Merlin’s words of the prophecy pounded morbidly into Arthur’s mind. Could it really be true? Would this infant child, his own flesh and blood, one day bring forth his downfall? Arthur could not accept this or bring himself to so what Merlin demanded of him, put this innocent child to death. How could the wizard expect him to murder his own son? Arthur thought of Merlin’s caveat. The child was conceived within his sister, Morgana, and therefore was an abomination. Camelot would never accept this boy as their king. If he were to acknowledge Mordred as his son, as Merlin threatened, it would lacerate his peaceful kingdom into chaos. The all-knowing sorcerer had retrieved this boy from his mother, the very moment of birth, so that Arthur could do what must be done for his kingdom.

 

            As his infant son stirred and started to wail, Arthur felt his own heart begin to crumble. He knew there could be no possible way he could bring himself to slaughter his own offspring, but now Arthur was not even sure he could give this child up. Perhaps he could run away, leave Camelot and raise his son peacefully in the country. His heart ached to do so, but for the sake of his kingdom he could not. According to Merlin, too much depended on him as king. The only choice Arthur had that he could bear was to find a decent home for his son, return to Camelot to marry Princess Guinevere, and move on as though that night with Morgana never happened.

 

_“So tell me, sister,” Arthur demanded, slamming his cup of ale against the wooden table in the courtroom. “Have you finally come to accept me as…as a…?”_

_Morgana giggled as she sipped her own cup. “I believe I have made it clear, dear King Arthur, I have come to acknowledge you as the legitimate king.”_

_“I know that.” Arthur tried to look her directly in the eye but found that his vision was blurred. “You have shown that by attending this royal banquet. I meant have you… have you come to accept me as your brother as our sister Morgause does?”_

_Morgana stretched her arm out, taking Arthur’s hand. “Of course. I know now you are not to blame for the sins of your father.” She paused and jiggled her empty cup. “I think its time for some more… Elena, more ale for the two of us!”_

_“I think we have had quite enough, Morgana,” Arthur protested._

_Morgana leaned in closer, running her long, thin fingers through his short curly auburn hair. “I feel our fun has just begun.”_

_Arthur attempted once again to focus his eyes towards his sister, as she seemed to shine in a whole new light. Her deep purple, royal gown foamed perfectly shaping her cleavage. Her long wavy Brunette hair fell down freely with a single golden jewel on her forehead. Her fair skin glowed reflectively in Arthur’s eyes as her vivid red lips began to draw him in closer. His mind seemed to have floated away to another place, a forbidden place._

_“Sister?” Arthur uttered as Elena penitently refilled their cups, while keeping her head low._

_Morgana raised her cup. “Yes, King Arthur.”_

_“I told you, Morgana, we are family,” Arthur insisted, slouched in his chair. “So long as we are alone, I am simply Arthur.”_

_Morgana snickered playfully as she set down her cup. “Alright then, simply Arthur, what is it you wanted to ask me?”_

_Arthur rested his head on his hand, as it seemed to grow heavy. “Do you love me, sister?”_

_Morgana laughed once more. “Of course I love you, dear Arthur. We are, as you say, family, are we not?”_

_“Yes,” Arthur replied tiredly in a heavy breath. “But all these years you have despised me. How do I kn…” he paused to yawn. “How do I know for sure your feelings for me have truly regenerated?”_

_“Of course they have,” Morgana assured. “Over the recent times we have spent together I have grown quite fond of you, dear brother. As you said, all we had to do was get to know one another.”_

_Arthur felt control of his speech slipping from his grasps. “You are fond of me. That is good to know. However, many citizens are fond of me, as they would be to any king. What I must know is do you love me, sister.”_

_Morgana gently lifted his chin, gazing deeply into her brother’s golden eyes. “With all my heart, I have come to love you, dear Arthur.”_

_Arthur leaned back in his chair, unconvinced as he gawked into her glistening violet eyes._

_“You do not seem to believe my love for you to be genuine, my brother.” She leaned in closer so that their faces were just inches apart, her warm breath whispering, “Perhaps there is some way I can show you my love is true.” She elegantly rose to her feet, enticingly taking hold of Arthur’s hand. “Come brother, let us retreat to your chambers so we may be in private.”_

_A faint voice uttered in Arthur’s mind, cautioning him no to follow her, but his head remained too disoriented to take heed of this prudence. Intrigued, Arthur gracelessly slumped down the dark, candle lit hallway, following his sister to the royal chambers._

_Talking hold of the doorway for support, Arthur entered his bedchambers to find Morgana haltingly untying the lace on her gown, standing beside his bed. She seductively brushed her fingers along the sheer canopy as she approached him, taking hold of his shirt, gently swinging his body evoking him to fall on his back on his own bed. The dizziness overwhelmed him. To Arthur, it seemed as though the entire room spun around him, expect for Morgana, who hovered above him, her hands pressed against the bed on each side of his head. She bent down closer. Arthur felt the warmth of her body as she passionately kissed him with her soft, smooth lips, and then…_

            Arthur could not recall any more details from that night, though the child he now held in his arms divulged the rest. The fire of Merlin’s eyes when he discovered what happened became forever engraved in Arthur’s mind. His heart throbbed for causing his mentor such disappointment.

 

            Arthur’s mind turned back to Morgana in wonder of why she behaved as so. Was it because she mind was merely under influence of the ale, or did she plan it? Could she somehow have known of the prophecy? Arthur could not accept the fact that his own sister would go through such lengths to bring about his downfall. He desperately desired to believe that he and his sister both simply made a mistake that night, nothing more.   

 

            Upon this experience, Arthur could not imagine himself ever again lying with another woman. Although for the sake of Camelot, he must lie with the Princess Guinevere in hopes of providing a legitimate heir for his kingdom.

 

            As the rain seemed to soften, Arthur turned his thoughts back to Mordred, remembering his mission. He had to admit he stalled purposely knowing these would be the last moments he would ever spend with his son.Holding the child close to his heart, he walked back out on the streets in search of a home.

 

            “Hello?” a soft female voice called from behind him. “What are you doing out in this weather, Sir?”

 

            Arthur turned to see a short woman who appeared to be a nun, standing in the street, gazing upon him, curiosity and concern filled her eyes. Tilting his head up, he praised the heavens. At last, he found a safe home for his son.

 

            “Please, oh holy one,” Arthur pleased. “This child needs a home. Will you not provide him one?”

 

            The nun reached her hand out, gently stroking Mordred’s forehead. “How did such a beautiful child come in such desperate need of a home? Are you not able to protect and care for this boy?”

 

            Arthur looked down at her son, shamefully. “I fear I cannot. He is not safe with me. Someone close wishes him dead.”

 

            “Who could desire such harm on an innocent child?” the nun sincerely wondered aloud.

 

            “Someone who fears what he will one day become,” Arthur muttered. “Please, my lady, will you take him in? His name is Mordred.”

 

            “I cannot turn away a child of God,” the nun replied holding out her arms, warmly.

 

            Before he handed the boy to her, he held up his son to look into his golden eyes, inherited from Arthur himself. “Mordred, my child. Not a day will pass by where thoughts of you do not cross my mind. I wish nothing more than to be the father you deserve. Even though we will be apart, I will always bear the same love for you as any father would have for his own son.”

 

            Tears began to ripple from his eyes as Arthur gently placed his son into the nun’s arms. Comforted, Mordred’s eyes gradually began to shut. Arthur bent down to give his boy one final kiss on the forehead before turning away, wiping the flood of tears from his own face.

 

            “Do not fear, my child, for the day will come when you have everything you deserve.”

 

            Arthur halted, his limbs frozen solid, his heart jerked downward. The woman’s voice seemed to have transformed into something familiar. With dread, Arthur turned his body back to face her.

 

            “Morgana!”

 

            “Not to worry, my dear brother,” Morgana taunted, now revealed in an ebony silk cloak, holding Mordred close to her chest. “You will one day see your son again.”

 

            Arthur lunged at her, but the moment he came close enough to touch she vanished. The only thing his fingers could grasp was the smoke floating above where she last stood.  

 


	2. Chapter 1 The Meeting

_Chapter 1_

_The Meeting_

            Leaning against the balcony, resting my cheek on my hand, I gazed out upon the vivacious garden just outside our castle in Camelot, my long blonde hair fell loosely down my back. It appeared to be a glorious, sunny day, perfect for being outside, but I had to wait for my father’s sanction before I could go ride my horse about in the fields, something I have absolutely adored since childhood. Father never admits me to ride out far beyond the castle, insisting that the future of this kingdom depends on me. Sometimes I wish I had an older brother or sister. Then the higher pressure would be on them, while I would have more leisure to do more of what I pleased.

 

            “Princess Isobel.”

 

            I turned my head to see Lancelot standing by the door leading to the balcony, with a soft smile upon his face. His wavy hair beamed a dazzling golden color in the sun’s rays. His blue eyes glistened as the met mine. I smiled to him. Lancelot has always been a loyal knight and friend to my father, as well as my mother’s childhood friend and has looked after me as a child even to this day. I remember as I little girl I had been so in love with Lancelot and dreamed of one day being his wife. Now that I am older, though I still admire him greatly, my little crush long since evaporated.

 

            “Good afternoon, Sir Lancelot,” I greeted pleasantly, returning my hazel eyes to the flowers below. “Any word from my father?”

 

            “He only asked me to check up on you to make sure you have finished your studies,” Lancelot replied.

 

            “You can inform him that I have completed everything he asked,” I answered dully.

 

            I thought of everything my father demands of me to learn, including various languages, religious values of both the old and new faith, peace arrangements, battle plans and methods, and how to keep providing plenty, if possible, to keep the people from starving. All this, I tried to learn perfectly so I will not let down my country or my father as ruler of Camelot.

 

            “The king also asks that you develop both a peace treaty with the Saxons as well as a battle plan against them so he can see what you have learned.”

 

            I sighed. _Will this ever end?_ Just when I catch a glimpse of freedom, my father always come up with something I more must do. It seems my free time has recently transformed from limited to non-existent.

 

            I turned back to face Lancelot. “I was much looking forward to my afternoon ride. Is it not possible this can wait until later.”

 

            Lancelot regrettably shook his head. “I am afraid King Arthur demands this of you as soon as possible.” As my face fell, he added, “But I promise, as soon as you finish I will show you to your horse.”

 

            Reluctantly, I nodded. “I do not wish to let my father down.”

 

xXx

 

            As promised, I was given the opportunity to ride my deep golden brown mare, Celer. This horse was given to me as a child and I have treasured her since. On Celer, I always felt as though I were on this grand adventure even though I was always forbidden to ride out far beyond the castle.

 

            I rode out just beyond the gates. This was as far out as I was permitted to ride. Ordinarily, I would just ride around close to the gates to admire the flowers in the field, but lately I have grown rather bored with that. What I desire now is to see what lies beyond the outer kingdom. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, before I surreptitiously lead Celer out the backside of the gates, concealed by bushes.

 

            My heart pounded in nerves yet my body stimulated in excitement. Never before had I dared to disobey my father’s orders, at least to this extreme. I know not why this day feels different. I suppose I am merely restless from all the monotony at my home castle. Feelings of guilt aroused as well but I willed them away, just for now.

 

            Celer carried me through a frolicsome forest filled with fluttering butterflies, chirping birds, and tall deep green trees. We then came across a glistering lake that reflected everything around it so clearly. Above that lake stood a lofty cliff, likely at least fifty feet, that leaned over the lake as a hook. I gazed up at its height, dazed, until something caught my eye. At the top of the cliff, stood a boy, his back to the water. Before I could blink, he lapsed over falling head first into the lake.

 

            “Oh God!” I gasped, swinging my leg off Celer, whisking towards the lake. 

 

            Just as I stepped my foot into the glacial liquid, the boy sprung back up wearing an expression of glee, which transformed to befuddlement as he spotted me.

 

            “Are you alright, Sir,” I panted, stepping me foot back to dry land.

 

            The boy, who had on only brown pants, brushed back his wet, brown chin length hair, ringing it out as he casually stepped back on land. “Of course. Why would I not be fine?”

 

            I gaped at him in sheer utter shock. “You just fell from a fifty foot cliff. You could have died!”

 

            He briefly turned his head to glance at the cliff before turning back to me, his golden eyes mesmerizing me momentarily. “Oh that? I was just cliff diving.”

 

            My expression remained fixed. “Cliff diving?” 

 

            He smiled, as he continued to dry himself. “Yes, I do it all the time. It really is quite fun if you are seeking a thrill. Perhaps you should give it a try.”

 

            I stared up at the cliff, as it appeared to have grown even grander than before. “I probably better not. If my father were to discover, he would be severely displeased.”

 

            The boy shrugged, as he put on his shirt. “He lets you ride out alone, it appears. What more harm can a little cliff diving do?”

 

            I tilted my head down, shamefully. “Well, actually, I um…”

 

            He grinned with immediate understanding. “I see. You are not permitted to ride out here alone, are you?”

 

            I shook my head. “My father forbids me.”

 

            “He seems to have quite the hold on you,” the boy commented. “I do not understand why. These forest are not dangerous.”

 

  1.             “I suppose he just does not want to risk any harm befalling on me,” I muttered.     



 

            “I understand,” he agreed seemingly. “But I must say, my lady, his sheltering of you has resulted in you missing out on quite some wonderful experiences this world has to offer.”

 

            “Oh really.” I strolled over to him, intrigued. “And what might those be?”

 

            He smiled, his white teeth sparkling in the sunlight. “Well, I could describe everything to you in perfect detail, but it would do you no good. Better I show you. That way, you can experience the pleasures and thrills this world has to offer for yourself.”

 

            My heart beat with rapidness as I knew it would be better to turn around and go home, but I found myself enthralled by this boy’s mannerism. Something about him enchanted me as though I were put under a spell, making it impossible for me to turn away.

 

            He extended his hand out to me. I took it as he led me towards the lake.

 

            “If you do not wish to cliff dive then the very least you can do is experience the soothing touch of the waters.”

 

            He took his shirt off once again. I unlaced my gown, now only in my white cotton under dress, as I watched him dive into the deep.  I remained in the shallow water, discomforted by the frigid temperature.

 

            “Come now,” he insisted. “Your body will soon be immune to the cold. I promise you, within moments you will feel absolute bliss.”

 

            Inhaling a deep breath, I raised my arms up above my head, diving in. The cold pierced my skin, but only momentarily. Soon, I felt the pleasures of floating peacefully in the water. Never in my life had I felt such freedom.

 

            “Well, I must admit, I am surprised,” the boy commented as I raised my head up above the surface. “With such sheltering, I did not expect you to actually know how to swim.”

 

            “I think my father has made sure that I know just about how to do anything,” I replied. “But I am never allowed to practice what I learn. He had me practice archery until I shot my bow perfectly threw the target almost every time, but I am forbidden to go out and hunt. He had me master the sword, but I cannot participate in battles. And, as you can see, I know how to swim, but I am never allowed to go out in the water. He seems to believe everything outside the kingdom is dangerous.”

 

            “Where do you live?” he asks.

 

            “In Camelot,” I replied as we treaded calmly. “I am, well, I am the princess there.”

 

            The boy’s eyes flickered briefly, as though darkness had briefly taken over them. “I see. So your father is none other than King Arthur Pendragon. No wonder he is no protective. It is well known to neighboring lands that you are his only heir.”

 

            “I wish I were not,” I mumbled.

 

            The boy raised his eyebrow. “You do not wish to be High Queen of Camelot?”

 

            “The pressure too great,” I explained. “Not to mention, all my life, I miss out on experiences such as this. I seem to find myself wishing that I had a brother or sister, even more so lately.”

 

            “Perhaps you may find yourself in fortune one of these days,” the boy muttered, his eyes pointed downward.

 

            That commented sounded odd. I opened my mouth to ask him to elaborate, but then…

 

            “Princess Isobel!” I heard a familiar voice bellowing my name.

 

            “Oh, no. That’s Sir Lancelot!” I gasped dreadfully as I made my way to shore. “My father must have sent him in search of me. I must be going!”

 

            “Will I see you again, Princess Isobel?” the boy asked as he followed me.

 

            “Perhaps I will soon need another day of release,” I responded, rapidly lacing up my dress. “Do you come here often?”

 

            “Everyday,” he answered with a grin.

 

            “Well, then,” I said as I prepared to mound Celer. “Perhaps our paths will cross again, um… I am sorry, I did not catch your name.”

 

            His golden eyes met mine as he replied, “My name is Mordred.”

 

 

 

              
  



	3. Chapter 2 The Suitor

_Chapter 2_

_The Suitor_

            For the next few days, I kept thinking about that boy, Mordred. There was so much I wanted to ask him. Where was he from? Who are his parents? What does he do for a living? His life seemed full of freedom, the kind of freedom I crave. I greatly desired to see Mordred again, but after the incident the other day, I had been forbidden to ride my horse.

 

            In midday, I gradually strolled down the main hall, politely nodding at the castle’s ladies in waiting as I passed by. I made my way to the throne room. My father has summoned me, saying that today he was making a salient decision for the future of Camelot involving me. I feel uncertain of whether to be eager for whatever is to come or dread it.

 

            “Isobel.”

 

            I turned to see my mother, beaming, wearing a light blue gown with a golden trim. Her hair was long and blonde just as mine, though she rarely wore hers down as I preferred to.

 

            “Mother, it is good to see you.” I went up to her and embraced her. “Do you know why Father has summoned me?”

 

            “Oh, darling, I cannot tell you that.” She took my hand and began to walk me to the thrown room. “I do not wish to ruin the surprise.”

 

            “Surprise?”

 

            Mother’s smile did not fade. “Yes, your father has some glorious news for you my dear, but he desires to reveal it to you himself.”

 

            “Will I be permitted to ride my horse outside, once again?” I inquired eagerly. “Is he still angry with me?”

 

            “He does not appear to be angry with you over the other day, anymore, darling,” Mother answered. “But he did not mention anything about your horse. We can discuss it after the surprise.”

 

            I nodded anxiously in agreement. I wonder what this surprise will be. Will it be something that will please me, or Father? I suppose I will soon discover.

 

            Mother escorted me to the throne room, where my father accompanied by knights, gentlemen, and ladies in waiting awaited my arrival. The room appeared grand with its wide stone walls smoothly carved. Above a series of steps, sat my father, King Arthur, on his throne. He was dressed in red velvet robes, and upon his curly auburn hair he wore a golden crown. He rose up with a smile as my mother and I entered the room.

 

            Before joining him, Mother and I both bowed down before Father. He walked down, gracefully, and took my hand, embraced both of us and then proceeded to lead us to our thrones on each side of his.

 

            The words hung in the back of my mouth, waiting to burst forward demanding what the surprise is, but I resisted. Since we were in the presence of the court, it would be inappropriate for me to outburst in request of information from the king.

 

            Father turned towards me, taking my hand. “Isobel, my daughter, I have grand news for you.”

 

            Still voiceless, I eyes met his, pleading for elaboration.

 

            He beamed. “I have finally chosen a suitor for you, someone you will be a great husband to you as well as ruler of Camelot.”

 

            “Who is it?” I asked, unable to hold my silence any longer.

 

            “Prince Gawain,” Father replied, proudly. “He is the eldest son of my sister Morgause so he is of royal blood. You remember him?”

 

            “Gawain,” I repeated softly, as memories of him came sifting back to me.

 

            I recalled Queen Morgause came to visit years ago, bringing Gawain with her. We played together as children quite a bit during their stay. He would show me the techniques he used for swordplay, while I would replicate them. That was until I was informed that sword fighting was not appropriate for a lady, even though I learned basic techniques anyway. I recalled then showing Gawain my needlepoint. He then attained the skills needed and became quite good, creating a cloth with a beautifully detailed landscape of a lake on it. Then, of course, he was thusly informed that sewing was inappropriate for gentlemen. I could not help but smile at these memories. I wonder what Gawain is like now.

 

            “Isobel,” my father’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Darling, are you heading my words?”

 

            “Forgive me, Father. Daydream,” I muttered softly. “What were you saying?”

 

            “I said Queen Morgause and Prince Gawain are going to be here promptly,” Father answered. “We are to greet them upon arrival. We will make the official announcement of your betrothal once they have settled in. They do have quite a long journey.”

 

            That explains the courtroom. We are here for the arrival of our extended family, my future husband. I am not surprised. I am of marrying age after all, and it is quite common for cousins to wed, especially for royalty. My father says it is important for my husband to have royal blood flowing in his veins, else the people may not accept him as their king.

 

            I heard the announcement for the gates to open. They must be here. I could not help but feel some anxiety. After all, I will be meeting the man I am going to wed. I sincerely hope that Gawain and I do get along as we did when we were kids. If so, I think I could imagine him as my husband.

 

            The palace doors opened and in came a woman, wearing a dark green velvet gown with soft brown hair pulled in an up do with a golden weave, her chin held up proudly, but she still wore a small smile. I assumed this to be my Aunt Morgause. I remembered her to be firm when she needed to be but still kind as well. She and Father became close and even though she lived a distance away, they would still write to each other quite often. Behind her, wearing deep red cloak followed a timid looking boy appearing close to my age, his wavy blonde hair falling to his shoulders. This must be Prince Gawain since the rest of the group appeared to be guards. Gawain seemed to try to materialize himself as confident, just as his mother, but I could still see the anxiety his sky blue eyes.

 

            Father took my hand and led me down the steps to greet them. Mother followed.

 

            “Sister!” Father welcomed offering her a warm embrace. “How wonderful it is to see you.”

 

            “It is lovely to see you too, my dear brother,” Morgause replied, and then turned to Gawain. “You remember my son, Prince Gawain.”

 

            As she nodded to him, Gawain took a deep bow. I noticed his hands shaking just slightly as he bent his head over them.

 

            “Rise up, my boy,” Father commanded pulling Gawain into an embrace. “We are all family here.” He then turned around taking Mother’s hand. “You remember my queen, Guinevere, and, of course, my daughter, Princess Isobel,” He winked at Gawain and added, “your future queen, my boy.”

 

            Morgause embraced my mother and then turned to her son, demanding, “Gawain, it is appropriate to kiss the hand of your princess.”

 

            “Yes, Mother,” he mumbled as he took my hand.

 

            I could feel the sweat of his palms. I smiled at him gently, letting him know that I was nothing to be intimidated by. He must be nervous because he feels he must impress me as a suitor. I must admit, I feel a few tense nerves as well, but as long as we spend some time together and rekindle the bond we once had as children then I am confident everything between us will be fine.

 

“Where is the rest of the family, Morgause?” Father inquired, eyeing the guards.

 

            “I am afraid my husband, King Lot, has matters to attend with the Saxons,” Morgause responded, “and my other sons are too young for such travel so I decided best they stay behind as well.”

 

            Father frowned. “The Saxons are not giving you trouble, are they? If so, feel free to turn to me for aid.”

 

            Morgause shook her head. “No, they have been peaceful. King Lot just wants to assure they remain as so. He fears they may try something if we are both away from our kingdom.”

 

            Father nodded in understanding as he escorted Morgause out of the throne room. Morgause waved her hand beckoning her son to follow. Mother turned her head and nodded to me, informing me to do the same.

 

            “So how fairs our sister Morgana,” Father asked softly in a hushed tone.

 

            It seemed he tried to sound sincere, but I caught stiffness in his tone as he uttered the name, Morgana. I knew little of my Aunt Morgana. She supposedly lives out in the valleys just beyond Camelot but she has not been sighted in years. Father rarely speaks of her. There seems to be a bad memory of Morgana scarred in Father’s mind for every time I mention her, his voice becomes chilled and he rapidly changes the subject. I wonder what it is about her or what happened between them that led to their relationship becoming what it is now, especially since Father seems so close with Aunt Morgause. Aunt Morgana is just as much a sister to him as she.

 

            “It has been years since I have last spoken with her,” Morgause answered quietly. “She tends to keep to herself.”

 

            Father muttered something in agreement I did not catch, and then discontinued the conversation, briefly glancing back as though to check if I was listening. I do wonder why he rarely speaks of his other mysterious sister. 

 

xXx

 

            The next day, Gawain and I strolled about in the garden just outside the castle. The clouds hovered above as a blanket over the earth. Since they seemed to grow darker, Gawain and I decided we wanted to enjoy the outdoors while we still can.

 

 

            Gawain gazed downward as he spoke. “To be honest, a bit overwhelmed. After all, Camelot is the greatest kingdom in all of Britannia. I fear I might do something to lead it to ruin.”

 

            “I do not believe you will,” I replied comfortingly, not meeting his eyes. “Though to be honest, I face similar fears. I miss the days when we just children. There was no responsibilities, no pressures to impress others. We could just be ourselves without a care of what people thought.”

 

            Gawain smiled, turning his head to me. “Like when you taught me to sew. I formed a fabric containing an enchanted lake, or that is what I thought of it as.”

 

            I looked at him and returned the smile. “You remember.”

 

            “Yes, I was so proud of being able to sew that. I strongly desired to make another, but I was soon lectured to by my father that sewing is for the ladies.” He paused for a moment, fidgeting his fingers. “I kept it all these years.”

 

            “You kept the cloth?” I asked, surprised.

 

            “Of course. It reminded me of the summer we spent together that year and what I learned from you.”

 

            I could not help but laugh. “Well, I suppose I did teach you to sew but after a while you grew to be much more skilled at it than I.”

 

            “Well, you picked up the art of swordplay much quicker than I did,” Gawain responded with a grin.

 

            “Actually, I did have some practice before we met,” I admitted bashfully. “Father did believe it necessary for me to know the basics but I am never to use a sword unless in the case of an emergency.”

 

  1.             We continued to remissness over our childhood, and how it annoyed us both that men and women are suppose to act a certain way according to their gender. He asked for more detail about my father, his uncle and future father in law. I inquired about my Aunt Morgause. The comparisons seemed similar, both loving but stern when necessary, and they both seemed deeply concerned for the well being and future of Camelot.   



 

            I then asked the question I was most anxious to ask, but had stored in the back of my mind for later. “Have you ever met our Aunt Morgana?”

 

            He looked at me curiously since this seemed to come out of the blue and shook his head. “I have not. She never visits and I am not even certain of where she lives. Have you met her?””

 

            I sighed shaking my head as well. “No, I was just wondering why it is she never makes an appearance. She is sister to the high king. Perhaps something happened between them. Does your mother ever speak of her?”

 

            “Not often,” Gawain answered, as we came to a stop. “The few times she does, she mostly talks of when they were children and how Morgana use to be much more cheerful than she is now. She says Morgana was very close with my grandfather, Gorlois, in a way that she wished she could be.”

 

            I vaguely knew the details of this story for Father rarely spoke of it. No one did for that matter. What I did know was that my grandfather, Uthur, desired the Lady Igraine, my grandmother and the mother of Arthur, Morgause and Morgana. Somehow Uthur convinced Merlin to use magic to allow him to have Igraine and it resulted in Gorlois losing his life. If there is any truth in that then I do not blame Morgana for feeling bitter if she does. If some man came between my parents, costing my father his life, I would feel the same bitterness, but she must understand that my father is not to blame for what happened.

 

            “Did you hear that?” Gawain asked, retuning my mind to this world.

 

            I shook my head looking around. I did feel the rain beginning to fall, its cold touch giving me shivers as it gradually poured more heavily.

 

            “It must have been the rain starting up,” I suggested, taking his arm. “We should go back inside the castle.”

 

            His feet remained planted in the ground, despite my tug. “No, I heard footsteps. Someone else is in this garden.”

 

  1.             Gawain pointed towards a path of bushes that led away from the castle. I held my hand over my eyes to keep the rain off and squinted them to see what he was talking about. I did indeed spot a figure approaching us. He wore amour, but not shining steel as the standards knights of Camelot wore. His appeared to be more rusty and grayish. As he came close enough to make out his face, my heart took a sharp beat. I immediately recognized him as the boy I met the other day at the lake, Mordred.       




	4. Chapter 3 An Audience With the King

_Chapter 3_

_An Audience With the King_

            “Mordred?”

 

            I stared across the garden at this mysterious boy I met only days ago. In my trance, the rain no longer seemed to touch my skin and I barely noticed human flesh suddenly taking hold of my hand.

 

            “Princess Isobel, are you in acquaintance with this boy?” Gawain asked.

 

            Startled, I turned my head to see Gawain’s puzzled expression as his concerned eyes shifted from me to Mordred unsure of what to say.

 

            “Yes, we met just the other day, when I, um… when we were…” I paused as my voice kept stumbling unable to provide the necessary words. I felt as though there were a shield in my throat preventing speech from escaping.

 

            Unlike me, Mordred spoke in a more articulate tone. “We met at the lake just beyond the walls of Camelot. I seemed to frighten the princess with my cliff diving.”

 

            “Startle is more the word,” I muttered and then added more boldly, “We should go inside. It does not seem the rain will cease in the near future.”

 

            Gawain nodded and took my hand, leading me into the castle. Mordred, however, seemed a bit more hesitant, as he lingered behind. Perhaps he felt nervous entering the castle of Arthur Pendragon. I turned my head and nodded to him with an eased smile, hoping he will see it as comfort. I noticed Mordred inhale quite a deep breath as we entered the palace.

 

            As we walked in through the doors, I turned to Mordred, inquiring, “So what brings you to the palace of Camelot?”

 

            “My business is with your father, the king,” Mordred replied softly.

 

            “Oh.” I looked down attempting to conceal my disappointment.

 

            He raised his eyebrow, not fooled. “Were you hoping for a alternate reason?”

 

            I quickly shook my head. “No. To be quite honest, I did not expect to ever see you again. So what business do you have…”

 

            “Good heavens!” My mother came rushing down the hall towards the three of us, her curly hair flying behind her shoulders. “What on earth were you doing out in the rain, Isobel?”

 

            “Sorry, Mother,” I apologized in a single breath. “The rain caught us all off guard.”

 

            “The fault lies with me, Queen Guinevere,” Gawain offered with a brief bow. “I should have brought your daughter in the moment I noticed the darkening clouds.”

 

            Mother’s expression softened. “That is quite alright, darling, and it’s Aunt Guinevere. We are family.” Her head then turned to Mordred. “Who is this young man?”

 

            “This is Mordred, Mother,” I explained as Mordred took a deep bow towards her. “He wishes an audience with the king.”

 

            Mother smiled at him warmly, though I caught a hint of caution in her eyes. “Well, Mordred, you best dry off first and then you will be presented to the king.” 

 

            “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Mordred smiled gratefully as he took another bow.

 

            Before I had the chance to say anything more to him I was led away to my chambers by my mother’s ladies in waiting. I turned my head back to Mordred, watching him walk off in the opposite direction. A mysterious aura seemed to follow behind him. Where did this boy come from? My heart beat anxiously for knowledge of this strange man.

 

xXx

 

            “So tell me of Prince Gawain,” my maid, Catrin, pleaded eagerly as she fastened my gown. “Is he charming?”

 

            I smiled, though my thoughts could not fully focus on Gawain. “He is just as I remember him, a sweet, kind hearted boy.”

 

            “He is rather handsome, is he not?” she added as she began to comb my hair.

 

            “Yes, he is,” I mumbled as my thoughts treaded further away from the subject.

 

            As Catrin combed out the final tangle in my hair, I stared out through the sheer white curtains of my window, as my mind now only seemed to have room for thoughts of Mordred. I do hope I am permitted some time alone with him so I can see through his mysterious veil. I am not quite sure what it is, but I feel this odd connection to him, as though I have known him for a great length of time, but that cannot be possible as I only met him just days ago.

 

            “Princess Isobel,” Catrin’s voice lifted my mind out of the depths of my daydream. “I am finished.”

 

            “Thank you, Catrin.”

 

I briefly glanced at my reflection to assure I appeared presentable before I made my way to the throne room. Catrin always made sure I looked just as a princess should, even when I say she has no need to go through much trouble. Sometimes I grow tired of the constant perfection. Now, my long hair lies out in perfect girls with a silver threaded weave holding half of it in a bun. I wore a royal purple gown with silver laced puffed sleeves.

 

As I entered the room, I found that both my parents along with my Aunt Morgause already there but not Gawain. I gracefully strolled up to my seat beside my father.

 

I turned my head to Aunt Morgause and whispered, “Where is Gawain?”

 

“He seems to have fallen ill,” she replied, and as she caught sight of my worried face she hastily added, “Its nothing to concern yourself with, only a cold. He just needs to rest.”

 

“I shall visit him this evening,” I assured her.

 

“No, Isobel,” Father objected, giving me a stern look. “I cannot risk you falling ill as well.”

 

“But it is only a cold,” I protested.

 

“Now it is merely a cold, but once it spreads it may evolve into something more,” Father explained. “You may send Prince Gawain flowers if you wish, but you are not to see him until he is fully recovered.”

 

I let out a small irritated breath, muttering, “Yes Father.”

 

Having no desire to discuss this matter any further, Father turned his head to my mother on his other side and inquired, “Who is it that desired an audience with me?”

 

Mother put her hand on her head. “His name escapes me.” She then placed her hand back in her lap as she turned to me. “Isobel seemed to know him. Darling, what does this boy call himself?”

 

“Mordred,” I answered softly, keeping my eyes straight ahead.

 

Father then drew in a sharp breath, his growing eyes gazing into mine intently. His healthy skin glow slowly seemed to be seeping out.

 

“Isobel,” he asked slowly in a hushed voice. “What did you say this boy’s name was?”

 

Bedazzled by his reaction, I opened my mouth to repeat the name but before any words could come out the gates opened and I saw Mordred being shown in.

 

  1. “Your majesties,” Argos, our messenger’s voice carried throughout the entire courtroom. “May I present, Sir Mordred, here to request an audience with the king.”   



 

As Mordred approached our thrones and gave a deep bow, my eyes remained directed to my father with concern. His face appeared white now, his golden eyes widened. One might believe him to have just witnessed a raging spirit pass by. Why was my father so afraid?

 

Mordred, however, appeared perfectly calm, his previous nerves seemingly evaporated.  Unlike most, he apparently was not fearful to look the king directly in the eye. I cannot recall ever meeting someone show this much confidence before the king of Camelot.

 

“Your Highness,” Mordred spoke quite boldly as he rose up from his bow. “For years I have deeply admired the knights of Camelot and your leadership to them. I would be greatly honored if you were to permit me to become a knight and serve your kingdom.”

 

I frowned. Surely Father would not allow this. It was common knowledge that only men of noble blood were granted the opportunity to become a knight. Perhaps Mordred did not know this. I turned my head to Father to see how he would react, but he seemed at a loss for words. I have never seen him act as so before.

 

Finally, after a few drawn out moments, Father spoke in a slightly quivered voice, “Sir Mordred, you say?” As Mordred nodded, he continued, “Only men born from nobility are permitted to become a knight of Camelot. Might I ask, who is your father?”

 

Mordred tilted his head downward, his soft brown hair, falling to his eyes. “Sadly, my father passed on to the afterlife before I was born.” He then gazed back up and grinned, as though he were holding back a smirk. “It is not my father’s name that you would find familiar but my mother’s, for she is your very own sister, Morgana Le Fay.”

 

The courtroom filled with gasps and whispers, as no one seemed to expect this. The only person who did not appear startled by this last bit of information was my father, who merely nodded as he rose up from his throne and slowly strolled down the steps to Mordred’s level.

 

As Mordred began to bow, Father shook his head motioning him to rise. “It has been many years since I last saw my sister. Tell me, my boy, how is she?”

 

“She is well, Your Highness,” Mordred answered more quietly as they were close. “She desired to be her in person but she is otherwise engaged. She wished for me to inform you that she is truly sorry for some nasty business many years ago, in which she did not provide me any details of, and that she wants me to serve as a knight to show both her and my support and loyalty for this kingdom.”

 

“Is that so?” my father seemed to speak in an awed tone.

 

As I looked down at my father’s auburn hair tied back, I could not see his face, but I am fairly certain he was smiling.

 

Father’s tone finally seemed to accumulate the confidence of a king. “Well, Mordred, how can I deny my own nephew the chance to become a knight? I am certain your services will be greatly needed and valued in this kingdom.” He then took Mordred into his arms in an embrace, finishing with, “Welcome to Camelot, my boy.”  

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 4 Midnight Stroll

_Chapter 4_

_Midnight Stroll_

            The full moon shined lustrously. I could see its light seeping through the drapes as I walked down the candlelit hall towards my chambers. The instinct bore down within me that I would have difficulty with sleep as I continued to wonder about Mordred, who is apparently my cousin. Father seemed to welcome him to Camelot with open arms but the image of his paralyzed expression when I first uttered Mordred’s name still had place within my mind.

 

            “I must caution you, brother, about letting this boy stay in the castle,” I heard my Aunt Morgause’s hushed voice flow out from one of the chambers.

 

            I tiptoed closer to the room, kneeling down by the door pushing it open just a crack more so I could listen.

 

             “The boy is part of our family, Morgause,” Father replied in a reasoning tone. “I cannot just send him away.”

 

            “He is the son of our sister, Morgana, as he so claims,” Morgause reminded him. “She has shown no signs of support or loyalty towards Camelot in the recent years. It is likely she still has no intention of acknowledging you as High King. She could just be using this boy as a tool to get into this kingdom and gain your trust.”

 

            “Then why does she not come herself?” Father demanded, as I saw his shadow put his hand on his head. “Why does she not simply come here in person and try to fool me into gaining her trust? Perhaps she is afraid to face us so she sent her son here to speak for her. We must at least give him a chance.”

 

            Morgause sighed. “I know you are not that naïve, brother. What is it about this boy that you refuse to send him away? I understand that he is a nephew to us both, but we cannot ignore the fact that Morgana is his mother, not to mention we do not even know who his father is.”

 

            Father’s voice grew softer to a level I could barely hear. “He is Morgana’s son. That makes him part of the family. Unless he commits a serious offense against the kingdom, Mordred is welcome to stay in Camelot.”

 

            “Very well,” Morgause consented, but her tone remained cautious. “At the very least, you should keep a close eye on him.”

 

            As Father agreed, I heard Morgause’s footsteps approaching the door. I quickly dashed around the corner, but as I peered around at her walking the other way I decided to follow. After all, she was heading in the direction of my chambers. I could still appear innocent.

 

            “Aunt Morgause,” I called out softly, standing up straighter to appear as though I were just strolling down the corridor.

 

            She turned around startled, her forest green dress swaying around her ankles. “Princess Isobel, darling, why are you not in bed?”

 

            “I had difficulty sleeping so I went for a walk about the castle,” I lied, trying to meet her eyes. “How is Gawain?”

 

            She smiled warmly. “He is recovering quite well. Your father says as soon as he has been fully recovered for at least a day then you can see him.”

 

            “That is good to hear,” I mumbled looking down, pondering over whether or not I should ask what I really desired to.

 

            Despite my silence, Aunt Morgause seemed to pick up on my discomfort. “Is something wrong, my dear?”

 

            I hastily shook my head. “No… Um, well, I was just wondering about my Aunt Morgana. Why do you think after all this time of exile she sends her son here without warning?”

 

            Aunt Morgause sighed. “I know not, dear. All her life, I have never been able to predict what Morgana may be plotting to do next.”

 

            “Do you think she is planning anything bad?” I inquired thinking of my aunt’s warning to my father just a moment ago. “Perhaps she did send her son here as a gesture of peace.”

 

            She just smiled. “You are quite a bit like your father, Isobel, always wanting to see the good in people. I do hope by some miracle Morgana has changed, but considering what I know of here I am afraid that is unlikely. Last time we thought she might have had a change in heart in her feelings towards your father, it turned out it was just one of her tricks.”

 

            I gaped at her more intently as this was news to my ears. “What did she do the last time she was here?”

 

            Morgause’s eyes pointed downward as she put her hand on her head trying to recall the event. “It was years ago before you were born. I think around the time your father was first betrothed to your mother. Anyway, Morgana had come to declare her allegiance to your father and she stayed here in the castle and the two of them became quite close, enjoying each others’ company, or as it so appeared.” She met my eyes, as her tone grew darker. “But then something happened. Your father refused to speak of exactly what, but whatever it was resulted in Morgana’s sudden departure and she has not returned since.”

 

            I stood in silence contemplating what Morgana could have done, but nothing came to mind. Could she really be as evil and hostile as everyone claims.

 

            “Well, I should be off to bed, as should you,” Aunt Morgause declared, breaking the silence. “Goodnight, Princess Isobel.”

 

            “Goodnight,” I muttered as she strolled off.

 

            I slowly paced myself to my own chambers. There is just no way I will find sleep in the near future with this much clouding my mind. I wonder what the true purpose of Mordred’s arrival in Camelot is. Could he perhaps be as a spy for his avenging mother or as a peaceful gesture?

 

            “Isobel?”

 

            Startled, my heart leaped as I whooped around. My eyes fell upon the very same person we were discussing just moments before.

 

“Mordred,” I panted startled.

 

            He grinned, attempting to conceal his amusement at my scare. “My apologies, Princess Isobel as I should call you.”

 

            “It is fine.” I tried to calm my breath. “And so long as the two of us are alone you can just call me Isobel. Sometimes it is a relief to be simply Isobel.”

 

            Slowly, he edged closer to me. “Alright then, simply Isobel. Would you care for a midnight stroll?”

 

            Withholding my desired, I gazed down, fidgeting my thumbs. “Well, actually I really should be off to bed.”

 

            “Oh I see,” he consented briefly but pointed out, “You do not appear very tired. Are you?”

 

            “Not particularly,” I admitted. “But it is passed the usual hour I go to bed.”

 

            He just shrugged. “Come now, why go to bed when you are not tired?”

 

            As I looked to his broad smile, glistening in the moonlight, it grew more and more difficult to refuse. “I suppose a short walk would do no damage.”

 

            We strolled out among the very same place in the garden where Mordred appeared earlier this day. I adore how the moonlight reflects its lights among the flowers in a more subtle way than the sun. I never have the opportunity to see this kind of beauty as I am rarely outside in the nighttime. Everything still appeared wet from the rainfall earlier but the water made the reflected light all the more exquisite.

 

            I found myself enjoying Mordred’s company. He seems to have this different way of looking at and living life, a much more free style than what I am use to. I would just love to have to chance to swim out at a lake as he does daily at my own leisure as he typically does. Maybe one day, I would even build up the courage to try a little cliff diving. His life is so full of freedom, the freedom that I discretely crave.

 

He asked me about life in Camelot and what kind of ruler my father is. I respond in saying that some claim him to be the best king this kingdom has ever known. I try to wait for the opportunity to inquire of the matter I really wish to speak with him on.

 

            We fell to silence for a few moments before I finally avowed, “So why does your mother not accompany you to Camelot? Does she not wish to reunite with her brother, or at the very least, her sister?”

 

            Mordred took in a deep breath. “It is a rather complicated matter.”

 

            “My father has always been a man of mercy,” I explained gently. “I am certain whatever she has done on her last visit will be forgiven.”

 

            He gave me a sharp glance before asking softly, “How do you know for certain she was in the fault?”

 

            “I’m sorry,” I apologized hastily. “I suppose I do not have any of the facts seeing as her visit took place before my birth. Was it my father who wronged her?”

 

            His eyes softened as he offered a small smile. “It seems you and I share the same ignorance on the matter. Mother refuses to provide me with the details.”

 

            I returned his smile, wanting to ease the conversation. “What is your mother like?”

 

            As he began to describe her, his beam grew broader. “My mother has always shown deep love and care for me as we were truly the only ones we each had by our side. She taught me everything I know, and she would try convince me that I can accomplish anything I desire as long as I put my mind to it.”

 

            “She sounds wonderful,” I commented, turning my gaze straight ahead to the tulips. “I would very much like to meet my aunt Morgana. Do you think you are anything like her?”

 

            Mordred let out a soft chuckle. “Are any two people in this world really alike?”

 

            I laughed along with him as I brushed my hair away from my face. He did have a fair point there.

 

            “There is something that both my mother and I share,” Mordred continued.

 

            I glanced at him curiously. “And what might that be?”

 

            He causally strolled over to the soft white lilies. He bent over but before plucking one of the lower flowers, he gazed up to me and grinned. I stood still, unknowing of what to expect.

 

            Mordred then walked back over to me, leveling the flower with my eyes. “I think in this particular case, it would be better if I showed you.”

 

            His hand dropped down by his thigh, but the lily remained floating at the very same position he had it held.

 

            I stared at it in awe. Words could not seem to find their way out for a few moments. Ever since Merlin’s disappearance when I was just a few years of age, I have not witnessed the art of sorcery performed right before my very eyes.

 

            “You can use magic,” I finally uttered, quite impressed.

 

            He beamed noting my admiration. “Yes, it is a gift both my mother and I share. She taught me how to control it and bend it to my will.”

 

            My mind seemed to float up in the heavens as I stared at the now spinning lily. That is until a sudden revolution dragged my wondering mind back to reality. I snatched the flower with haste.

 

            “You must not let anyone witness you doing this,” I stated firmly, but as my eyes met his, my tone softened. “I am sorry for the sudden outburst. Its just that, well, my father has banned the use of magic in Camelot.”

 

            He sighed, giving me a soft understanding smile. “Not to worry. I am well aware.” He paused for a moment, and then added, “You know, it was not always like this. After all, was your father not tutored by Merlin himself?”

 

            I nodded. “Indeed he was, but I believe that it was the Merlin’s disappearance that caused him such great fear of magic.”

 

            “Do you know what happened to him?” Mordred asked. “Was it really his use of magic that caused him to disappear so abruptly?”

 

            “Well,” I paused to consider, “They say the overuse of magic can drive a person insane. I remember Merlin would use magic for just about everything. However, the story I was told was that he was last seen with his lover, Nimueh. Many believe that she was responsible for Merlin’s disappearance.”

 

            “I heard that Nimueh herself dissolved into madness as well,” Mordred added.

 

            “Yes, I suppose that it could have been her overuse of sorcery that caused her to do whatever she did to Merlin. Perhaps she did not even mean it. It does seem odd that she would intend harm to someone she loved so dearly.”

 

            “Does anyone know where Nimueh is now?” he asked.

 

            I shook my head. “No living soul has seen her since Merlin’s departure.”

 

            The whole situation seemed mysterious to me. I remember Aunt Morgause explaining to me as a little girl that not everything is meant to control magic even if born with the gift. Some people are more naturally inclined for manipulation of this gift than others. She also stated firmly that no matter who you are, using sorcery too often could drive anyone down the road of madness. Mordred, however, seems to be able to control it just fine. I wonder of my Aunt Morgana.

 

            “Well, now you are actually beginning to appear sleepy,” Mordred stated, gently tilting my chin up, grinning. “Perhaps, it would be a decent hour for bed after all.”

 

            “I think what most would consider to be the decent hour has passed,” I reminded him but grinned as well.

 

            The two of us made our way back inside the castle walls, wishing goodnight to one another. Holding up a candlestick I took from the wall, I proceeded to my own chambers. Thoughts of our conversation flowed throughout my mind as I walked. I wonder if the truth will ever be revealed about what really happened between my father and Aunt Morgana many years ago, not to mention the mystery of Merlin and Nimueh. Mordred does not seem to have much more information than I do, unless he is deliberately keeping it from me.

 

            As I opened the wooden door to my chambers, I felt a breeze. This was odd, seeing as the curtains to my windows did not appear to move. A moment later, a gush of wind hit me, nearly knocking me to the ground. I dropped my now fireless candlestick. Everything then went utterly black.  My heart began to panic as it hit the bones of my chest. I kept blinking over and over but nothing appeared before my eyes.

 

            A slithery feminine voice then hissed, “ _The bastard will bring forth the fall of Camelot.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 5 The Gift

_Chapter 5_

_The Gift_

            Naturally, I slept quite poorly last night. I am not even positive I got any slumber at all. What was that voice last night and what did it mean? The incident seemed mystical, unreal. Perhaps magic? If so, I could not go to Father. Even though I did not cause this supernatural incident, or at least I do not believe I did, I know the very thought would upset my father.

 

            The next morning, I strolled down the hall still half asleep, wondering on whom I should turn to. This is one of those moments I wish Merlin were here. He would know just what happened to me, not to mention, had it not been for his disappearance, my father would not have such a stalwart hatred for magic to begin with.

 

            “Isobel,” I heard a familiar voice call.

 

            I turned my head and found Gawain standing by a candlestick hanging on the wall.

 

            “Gawain!” I rushed over to him, taking his hands. “I am happy to see you are better.”

 

            He smiled sweetly. “It was just a small illness. Mother says I likely caught it from being out in the rain.”

 

            _Aunt Morgause!_ I realized privately. _Perhaps I can discuss this matter with her._

            “Speaking of your mother,” I asked Gawain. “You would not happen to know where she is now, would you? I would like to have a word with her.”

 

            “I believe she’s still in her chambers,” he replied.

 

            I quickly bid Gawain a farewell and rushed on to Aunt Morgause’s chambers. I took in a deep breath before knocking.

 

            “Aunt Morgause?” I called. “It’s me, Isobel. May I come in?”

 

            “Yes, of course dear,” she answered.

 

            She was smiling when I first entered, but as soon as my aunt observed my expression, that smile vanished replaced with a look of concern.

 

            “Is something wrong, Princess Isobel?”

 

            “No,” I shook my head hastily, still unsure how much I wanted to tell her about last night. “I just, um, wanted to ask you about my Aunt Morgana’s magic.”

 

            Aunt Morgause frowned but still inquired, “What exactly do you wish to know about this?”

 

            I paused, uncertain of how to begin. “Well, one thing I was wondering is what kind of magic does she practice?”

 

            She sighed as she sat down in her chair and explained, “As a child, Morgana just did simple spells. She did approach it with wisdom, knowing that using magic too often can have unfavorable effects on its user. She did also get premonitions from time to time.”

 

            I looked at my aunt curiously. “Premonitions?”

 

            Aunt Morgause nodded. “Yes, they are not quite as common amongst those who practice magic. They are also indeed very difficult to control. Most never gain dominance over their prophecies or premonitions. They come and go as they please, almost as though they have a mind of their own.”

 

            “Has she always had premonitions or did they start to come well after she begun practicing magic?” I asked.

 

            She gazed upward as she thought this over before answering, “Well, as you likely know, premonitions are visions. To have one you would actually see a scene from the future or even the past sometimes. However, when Morgana first started getting them, they were just voices. When hearing these voices she would see nothing but darkness.”

 

            As she uttered those words the blood running through my veins froze. Does this mean I had a premonition last night? It cannot be. Never before had I practiced magic. What would father say if he found out?

 

            “Is something the matter, Princess Isobel?” She asked gazing onto me with concern. “You appear purely white.”

 

            With haste, I nodded as I rashly made my way to the door. “I’m fine. I just did not sleep enough last night, nothing more.”  

 

            Before she had the chance to say anything else, I had already rushed out of her chambers. I held my hand up against the wall to keep balance as my mind was spinning so. I did have a premonition last night, after all. Who could I turn to with this?

 

xXx

 

            “No, I swear I did not mean to,” a man’s voice wailed out.

 

            “You have been sentenced to prison until the king can determine whether or not you are guilty,” I heard Lancelot explain.

 

            I turned the hall so I could view the commotion. Lancelot was heading towards the dungeons. Behind him, walked two knights dragging a middle-aged peasant man.

 

            “Lancelot,” I called to him, revealing myself from around the corner.

 

            “Lancelot turned and muttered to the soldiers, “Go ahead and take him to the dungeon. I will inform the king of the matter.” As they left, he turned to face me and smiled gently, “Yes, Princess Isobel.”

 

            I walked over closer to him as I spoke. “I was just curious as of what that man has done.”

 

            “He has been seen using magic,” Lancelot explained. “As you know, that is against the law.”

 

            “Perhaps he did not do it on purpose,” I suggested vaguely as my body grew uncomfortable.

 

            He stared at me for a moment as he considered this. “I suppose you could be right. That man will be questioned later so we will know for sure. If that is the case, then he will have to learn how to control himself. Magic, as you know, is very dangerous and difficult for a single person to handle.”

 

            “Right, of course,” I muttered as I turned my body around. “I should go.”

 

            I briefly got glimpse of Lancelot’s confused and concerned face. Before he had the chance to say anything more, I had gone well out of earshot.

 

            Never before had I felt so alone. There was absolutely no one I could go to with this. I do not even want to consider what would happen if Father found out of my new ability. I know he is against magic solely for the safety of Camelot. Still, I had no intention of using magic last night. It just happened. How could I explain this to Father, to anyone?

 

            Then it struck me. There is someone who might understand without judgment, Mordred. He openly showed magic in front of me as though it were nothing, not to mention, he does not seem to have gone mad at all. Perhaps Mordred knows how to control it without dissenting into insanity. He just may be the only one here who could help me now.  

 

            I spent the rest of the day seeking Mordred, inquiring of where he might be. The most recent I heard was that he was outside in the arena, practicing swordplay. I briefly stopped by my chambers for my hooded cloak so I could go unnoticed.

 

            Once arriving outside, I found the arena lit up with torches, as it generally was once nightfall came. I saw, that my father and Mordred were the only two who remained for practicing. I secreted into the shed nearby peering at them through the door I had left opened just a crack. Mordred, had managed to knock Father off his feet, flat on his back ending with the sword pointing right at his chest. Even though in my mind, I knew this was just practice, my breathing grew rapid the moment Father hit the ground.

 

            Father, however, just beamed and laughed, “You are a natural, Mordred.”

 

            I noted immense pride in Father’s voice as he spoke.

 

            Mordred returned his grin, as he lowered his sword, extending his hand out to my father. “Thank you, Sir. Many years of practice. My mother strongly believed that I must master basic fighting skills, mostly for self defense though.”

 

            “I see,” Father replied as he took Mordred’s hand. “Well, those years have definitely paid off. Your mother has always been a wise woman.”

 

            Mordred remained silent. I tried to read his face, but his expression told me nothing.

 

            Father continued, “I would very much like to see her again. Do you think there is any chance of convincing her to come?”

 

            Mordred smiled as he answered, “I am sure she would very much like that. I will have to write her and tell her of your wishes.”

 

            Father shook his head. “Not to worry. I will write her myself, inviting her to Camelot.” He placed his hand on Mordred’s shoulder. “I truly do want to make everything right with this family.”

 

            Mordred nodded, his head tilted down as though he felt guilty, as he answered rather softly, “Yes, Sir.”

 

            “Now, we best both get some rest now,” Father finished as they both bid each other goodnight.

 

            Mordred then moved towards the weaponry shed I stood inside. I backed away into a shadow, in case Father followed. Unaccompanied, Mordred opened the door, without noticing me, and set his weapons down against the wall. He then leaned over on the table, pressing his hands against his head.

 

            “My father seems to have taken quite a liking to you,” I commented from the shadow.

 

            Affrighted, Mordred whirred his body around, his breathing growing rapid. “Isobel! I did not realize you were there.”

 

            “Forgive me,” I said calmly. “I did not intend to startle you. I simply wanted to talk to you.”

 

            His daunted expression transformed to a grin. “I suppose it’s only just. After all, I did the same to you last night.”

 

            I walked over to him, feeling sudden concern. “Are you alright? You seemed in pain a moment ago.”

 

            Mordred shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just a headache.”

 

            “It did not appear to affect your fighting skills,” I commented. “Father acted quite impressed. The way he praised you seemed as though he were praising his own son.”

 

            His body shifted uncomfortably as he kept his gaze downward and asked quickly, “So what did you wish to talk about with me?”

 

            I could easily tell something about me mentioning him and Father together caused his discomfort and desired to know why, but I did not want to risk angering him. He is the only one I can talk to now. I need him.

 

            “I wanted to ask more about your mother’s and, well your magic,” I stated clearly, wanting to get directly to the point.

 

            Mordred sighed as he removed the rest of his armor. “Magic is illegal here in Camelot, as you mentioned before. Its probably best we do not discuss it.”

 

            Before I could stop myself, I grabbed his arm desperately. “Please, I just have a couple questions. Nothing more.”

 

            Now his face grew troubled. “Is something wrong, Isobel?”

 

            My eyes started to fill with tears. I could not conceal the truth any longer. I needed to tell someone.

 

            “Something happened to me, last night,” I explained as my breath grew heavy. “I heard this voice. I think it might have been a prophecy.”

 

            “What did this voice say?” Mordred asked, looking me directly in the eye.

 

            “It said the bastard will bring forth the fall of Camelot,” I recalled. “I don’t know what means.”

 

            “I suppose you should be weary of any bastards you meet,” Mordred advised, with a suppressed grin.

 

            I rolled my eyes. “I am serious. What do you think this means?”

 

            “Well, it sounds like you did indeed have a prophecy,” he stated, confirming my greatest fear at the moment.

 

            I sank down into the bench in despair. “Great, so what does that make me now? How do I stop this?”

 

            He sat down beside me and asked, “Why do you want to stop it? What you have is a gift.”

 

            I let out a frustrated huff. “I do not think my father will see it as so. He believes magic is dangerous. What will he think of me if he finds out? He will likely think me a demon gone mad.”

 

            “His thoughts on magic come solely from fear,” Mordred explained rationally. “He just does not understand. You were born with this gift. That is something you have no control over. It does not make you a demon. Besides, people only go mad when they overuse it and lose control. People like you and me will be fine.”

 

            I smiled glad I came to him with this, but still felt something sinking in my heart. “I still worry of Father’s reaction if he finds out.”

 

            Mordred took hold of my shivering hand. “If your father ever does find out, I will show him my abilities too. Perhaps, together we can help him remember that magic is nothing to be afraid of.”

 

            I looked at him, drawing comfort from his eyes. Suddenly, I felt lightheaded, in a dream like state. Before I realized what I was doing, I found myself leaning closer to him, my lips just about to touch his.

 

            Mordred leaned back, awkwardly. “Isobel, um, what are you doing?”

 

            “Do you not feel something?” I asked in a whisper, my eyes still half closed. “Something between us.”

 

            “Yes, I cannot deny that,” he uttered softly. “But this is wrong. I really do not think we should do this.”

 

            “Why not,” I breathed, my mind still strayed far from reality.

 

            “You are betrothed,” Mordred reminded me.

 

            I gasped as I sat up straight, my hand flying over my mouth. “Oh God, what am I doing?” I stood up rashly, moving towards the door. “I am sorry, Mordred. I do not know what’s come over me. I, um… I should be going.”

 

            As I rushed out I barely heard Mordred’s voice call out, “Isobel, wait. It’s o…”

 

            I got too far away to hear the rest of his words. I slammed myself against the wall of the castle the moment I reached indoors. It seems as though I am losing my mind after all, not because of magic but my own emotions. I know I should not have these feelings but just like my new supernatural abilities I have no control over them. It seems I have fallen in love with Mordred.    




 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 6 First Premonition

_Chapter 6_

_First Premonition_

            _The moon’s light seeped in through the curtains in the hall leading to the king’s chambers. Everything gave the appearance of being tranquil, yet an unsettling feeling lingered about. Something in my father’s chambers felt wrong. I stood watching, my mind floating about in a dreamlike state with uncertainty of whether or not I am actually present. My body refused to move forward or back. It seems the only option I have is to remain in place, watching._

_Hearing footsteps, my heart picks up speed and a shadow emerges. My lungs grow heavier as my eyes continue to stare straight ahead. Coming into the candle’s light was Lancelot in his night robes. He walked right past where I apparently stood without notice. I gaze to him in wonder. What business could he possibly have in the king’s private chambers in the middle of the night?_

            I opened my eyes seeing that with the sun’s rays replacing the moonlight it must now be morning. Sitting up in my bed, I continued to think of what I just saw. Perhaps it was only a dream, but it seemed so real. I cannot explain, but the feeling I had just a moment ago was not the same, as I would have for any ordinary dream. I suppose it could be possible that my powers are growing. Several weeks have gone by since my first prophecy. My powers do not frighten me as they once did. Mordred has had much to do with that. On several occasions, we have secretly met at night and he would show me some more of his powers. Oddly enough, the more exposure I had, the more my fear withered down. I do not entirely understand my father’s phobia of magic anymore. I suppose it may have affected Merlin in some sort of way, but Mordred seems just fine. I am sure if I learn from him to channel my abilities I will be fine as well.

 

            As I think of Mordred, I lift up my brush to test if my powers have advanced enough to move it, but still nothing happens. I want so much to be closer to him and I can tell by the way his golden eyes look into mine his feelings are mutual. Even so, he remains resistant. I do understand. After all, I am betrothed. My heart sinks every time I think of Gawain now. I wish not to hurt him but, alas, I am unable to control how I feel.

 

            At that moment an idea sprung on to me. Mordred is the son of my father’s sister, Morgana. Therefore, just as much royal blood flows through his veins as they do Gawain’s.  That would make Mordred a suitable compassion for me in the eyes of Camelot. All I need is Father’s approval.

 

            Without wasting another moment, I threw on my gown and hastily made my way to my father’s chambers.

 

            I knocked on the door. “Father, my I have a word with you?”

 

            At the notion of his approval I walked in and found the king assembling his robes. I noticed that he stood alone.

 

            “Where is Mother?” I asked, my eyes scanning the room.

 

            “She awoke early today so she fancied herself a walk in the garden,” Father replied, seemingly avoiding my eyes, and then hastily changed the subject. “What matter do you wish do discuss at this hour?”

 

             I paused, considering how to approach this. “Well, to start, Father, what do you think of Mordred?”

 

            Though he seemed slightly taken back by my question he still smiled as he answered, “I think Mordred is a wonderful young man, very intelligent, agile mind, and indeed a well-skilled knight. Why do you ask?”

 

            “Well,” I spoke slowly, “I was thinking the same of him and I believe he would make a fine ruler of Camelot.”

 

            Father gazed at me, his golden eyes filled with uncertainty. “Do you wish to give up your birth right, Isobel? After the years of diligent work in preparation, that would be quite a waste.”

 

            “No, of course not!” I shook my head rapidly, slightly startled that he did not immediately pick up on where I was going. “I wish to marry Mordred.”

 

            For a moment, he merely gaped at me as though he did not comprehend what I just requested, but then looked to the ground and shook his head. “No, no you cannot marry Mordred.”

 

            At first, I could not produce any words as I was so stunned by his blunt rejection. Father did not even take a moment to consider.

 

            “Why ever not?” I finally demanded, trying to contain the fury in my voice. “You admitted you are quite fond of him. I am fond of him as well. Why do you forbid me to marry him?”

 

            “Because, Isobel…” his voice seemed to shiver as he struggled to come up with a valid reason, “because… you are already promised to Gawain.”

 

            “Promised is not married!” I protested. “I just do not feel the same for Gawain as I do for Mordred.”

 

            “Isobel, I beg you,” Father pleaded, “Push these feelings you have to the back of your mind. Think about what this will do to Gawain, or his family for that matter. If we were to break this agreement that could possibly lead to war with King Lot and Queen Morgause.”

 

            “And what of Morgana?” I asked, “Perhaps that was her purpose for sending Mordred to our lands in the first place.”

 

            Father simply shook his head. “I seriously doubt that, Isobel. My sister’s intentions are still unknown.”

 

            “I still do not understand why Mordred and I cannot…”

 

            “The answer is no, Isobel,” Father spoke with sudden firmness. “I will hear no more on this matter.”

 

            With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving me alone in his chambers, too astounded to even move. This just happened to be one reason I truly despised being a princess.  

 

xXx

 

            “Princess Isobel?” I hear Catrin call as she knocked on my door just as the sun set.

 

            “Come in,” I answer.

 

            Catrin entered and curtsied, her dark straw hair falling over her face.

 

            “I just wish to remind you of your dinner with Prince Gawain,” she informed as she rose back up.

 

            I sat on my bed, awkwardly, putting my hand on my forehead. “Oh, um… well, actually I am feeling ill so I do not think I will be able to.”

 

            “Are you sure, Princess Isobel?” Catrin asked. “You have not seen Prince Gawain in more than a week, and it would be a shame for all that food to go to waste.”

 

            I could feel my eyes light as I thought of something. “You should go in my place!”

 

            “Me?” She asked uncertainly.

 

            “Yes,” I declared firmly. “That way, the food will not be wasted and Gawain will have company as he dines. It will be perfect.”

 

            I loaned Catrin one of my nicer gowns and sent her on her way. I know this is not custom, but as soon as I become High Queen, I plan to alter some of these customs anyway.

 

            With nearly an hour passed, I hear a soft rap on my door.

 

            “Come in,” I called, immediately lying in bed and hoping that my visitor was not Father.

 

            The chamber doors opened to reveal Mordred. He entered looking slightly concerned.

 

            I practically leaped out of bed and rushed over to him. “Mordred! What are you doing here?”

 

            His ached expression transformed into a grin. “I heard that you were ill so I came to see how you are, but you do not seem sick at all.”

 

            I smiled, but looked down shamefully. “I made it up. I just did not fancy a dinner with him this evening.”

 

            “I see,” Mordred replied, lifting his brow. “Well, seeing as you are not ill, would you care for an evening stroll in the garden?”

 

            “That sounds wonderful,” I answered eagerly.

 

            We strolled amongst the lilies shimmering in the moonlight. I reached my hand casually taking hold of Mordred’s. He was at first resistant, but I soon felt the warmth of his clutch.

 

            “So have you heard any more prophecies, recently?” Mordred asked.

 

            I gazed straight ahead as I spoke without thought. “Well, actually, I believe I may have had an premonition.” 

 

            “Wow.” Mordred’s tone sounded impressed. “Your powers are growing rather rapidly. What did you see?”

 

            I looked at him momentarily, before turning my gaze back down to ponder. “It was dark. I could not tell if it was late night or early morning. I saw Lancelot coming out of the king’s chambers in his robes.”  

 

            Mordred remained silent for a moment before asking, “What business would Lancelot have in the king’s chambers that time a day, unless…”

 

            I gawked at him sharply. “Unless what?”

 

            He shook his head quickly. “Never mind. I am sure it is not that. I do not wish to upset you.”

 

            “Tell me what you are thinking!” I demanded.

 

            Mordred hesitated, turning his gaze back downward. “Well, perhaps the reason Lancelot was at the royals chambers at that hour was that…uh, that he and the queen are…”

 

            “Stop!” I interjected harshly. “I will hear no more of this. I know my mother and she would never betray my father.”

 

            Mordred scratched his head. “You have to admit based on what you saw with your own eyes, it does appear as so.”

 

            “I did not actually see it,” I protested, my voice still carrying tones of fury. “It was a premonition and I do not even know for sure that it was legitimate. It could have simply been a dream.”

 

            “But you said it felt like a vision,” Mordred reminded me.

 

            I put my hand on my head in distress. “I do not know for certain.” I let out a sigh as my hand flew back down. “Perhaps I should be off to bed.”

 

            “Isobel, wait!” Mordred called out, but I had already gone.

 

            My mind sunk down in deep denial, I entered the castle and proceeded to my own chambers. Just as I began to turn the corner, a candle’s light caught my eye. I turned my head back to see Lancelot in his night robes, appearing just the same as he did in my vision. The notable difference in the present exposed to be, instead of coming out from the royal chambers, he headed towards them.  


	8. Chapter 7 The Truth Revealed

_Chapter 7_

_The Truth Revealed_

            The next morning, I made no hesitation to go to my mother’s chambers to possibly confront her with what I thought I saw. As I paced down the hall, I desperately thought of a way to reveal the truth without asking her directly. The closer I got to her private bedroom, the heavier my heart began to pound. If the queen and Lancelot were indeed having an affair, not only would it tear apart my parents, but the entire kingdom as well.

 

            As I approached her door, I took in a deep inhale before knocking. “Mother, may I have a word?”

 

            “Yes, darling, come in,” she answered.

 

            I entered to find my mother sitting on her stool by the mirror, combing her golden blonde hair.

 

            She looked over to me and smiled. “What is it you wish to speak of, Isobel?”

 

            I closed the door behind me and asked, “Is anyone else here?”

 

            Mother’s smile transformed into a frown as she shook her head. “No, dear, it is just you and I. Is something wrong?”

 

            “Well,” I began approaching this matter with caution, “I, um… last night, I saw Lancelot heading towards the royal chambers in his night garments.”

 

            Mother’s eyes turned back to her reflection as she replied, “He must have had urgent business with your father.”

 

            “You are lying,” I accused, not fooled. “Would you not know for sure since you would have been there at that time?”

 

            She turned in her seat to meet my eyes. “Look, Isobel, there is quite a bit you do not understand about this matter.”

 

            “What is there to understand, Mother?” I demanded. “It is simple. Are you having an affair with Lancelot or not?”

 

            Tears now formed in her eyes. “Isobel, please, let me explain.”

 

            “I think I know enough,” I muttered before storming out of the room.

 

            My mother’s reaction told me everything. My vision was indeed true. Now the question that implanted in my mind, should I tell Father?

 

xXx

 

            That evening I sat alone in my chambers, staring vacantly out the window in wonder of what to do now. Never in my life had I felt more torn than at this moment. I understand Father does have the right to know the truth, but what would happen to Mother should I tell?

 

            “Princess Isobel,” I heard Catrin’s voice as she gently knocked on the door. “May I enter?”

 

             “Yes, come in, Catrin,” I replied dully.

 

            She entered and curtsied just as always before she spoke, “I was only wondering if you plan on seeing Prince Gawain tonight, Your Highness.”

 

            I sighed and answered truthfully, “I still do not feel up to it. You can go see him again if you like. How was your evening with him last night?”

 

            She beamed as she responded, “Oh, it was delightful. Prince Gawain truly is a wonderful young man!”

 

            Catrin then went on to explain Gawain’s plan to make peace treaties so we can cut back on spending for the war and have more money to provide for the citizens of Camelot. I have no doubt in my mind that Gawain will make a remarkable and well-admired king just like Father. I truly wish I could settle and be content, but I fear I cannot. Perhaps Mother had similar feelings when she and Father first married and that was what led to her affair with Lancelot.

 

  1.             I, once again, sent Catrin on her way so at least Gawain will have someone for company this evening as I figure out what I must do. Perhaps I should seek out Mordred. He likely believes I am still angry with him. I feel I should be but, alas, I cannot as his theory indeed proved true.              



 

As I could no longer bare my own room, I decided to take a walk in the garden alone to gather my thoughts. The outdoors appeared quite peaceful, the moonlight glistening and the flowers so still. The only turmoil remained in my own head.

 

“Isobel, is that you,” I heard a voice from behind where I stood.

 

I turned my head to see Mordred turning from behind the rose bushes. He approached me wearing a look of concern.

 

“I thought I might find you here,” he said as he tilted his head downward and took in a deep breath. “I just wanted to apologize for what I said last night. I was out of line to accuse your mother of such a thing.”

 

I nodded avoiding his eyes and holding back the water in my eyes.

 

            Mordred walked slowly closer to me and gently took my hand. “Is something wrong, Isobel?”

 

            Before I could stop myself I bursts into a flood of tears. “You were right, Mordred. What you said last night about Lancelot and my mother, it is all true.”

 

            He softly turned my body to face him and looked me in the eye. “How can you be certain? After all, you do not yet know your visions well enough to know when they are genuine.”

 

            I shook my head, still sobbing. “It was not a vision. Last night I saw Lancelot heading towards the king’s private chambers and this morning my mother practically admitted the truth to me.”

 

            Mordred pulled me into a warm comforting embrace. “Oh, Isobel, I am so sorry. I did not want to be right.”

 

            “What do I do now?” I wailed on holding him tightly. “I cannot bear the thought of knowing all this while my own father remains in the dark.”

 

            Mordred took in a deep breath before answering, “Personally, I believe your father deserves the truth.”

 

            “What about my mother?” I asked barely above a whisper. “What will happen to her? This treachery she has committed could result in her execution. I cannot bring about the death of my own mother.”

 

            “Perhaps you can persuade the king to go easy,” he suggested quietly.

 

            I sighed unable to respond.

 

            Mordred then continued, “Look, Isobel, I will not say anything if you do not want me to. This is your family so the decision is yours.”

 

            I managed only a single nod as he continued to hold me. Deep down, I knew what I must do. I just do not know if I can. As I held on to Mordred more intently I found myself desiring this moment to last forever.

 

            After a few more cold silent moments passed, I finally gazed up to Mordred and decided, “I am going to tell Father the truth. As you said, he does deserve to know.”

 

            Without a smile, Mordred simply offered a brief nod of approval. “I think you are doing the right thing, Isobel.”  

 

            Taking hold of his hands, I once again looked deeply into his eyes and asked, “Will you come with me, Mordred. Please.”

 

            He nodded sincerely. “I will always be there for you, Isobel.”

 

xXx

 

            Mordred and I did not utter a single word to each other on the walk to my father’s chambers. I felt a strange light-headedness, as though I was walking about in a dream, the kind of dream where I would be walking towards a destination and no matter how much I moved forward that place never got any closer. Unfortunately, the king’s chambers did not have this kind of effect as Mordred and I approached them.

 

            I allowed myself a deep breath before knocking. “Father, it is Isobel and, Mordred is with me. May we enter?”

 

            I heard footsteps and I could have sworn I heard the king whisper something, but I cannot be certain. At the sound of Father’s approval, we both entered. The king, wearing his night robes, smiled but it soon vanished once he saw my face.

 

            “Isobel?” Father asked concerned. “What is the matter?”

 

            At first when I opened my mouth no words escaped. I then glanced at Mordred, who offered an encouraging nod.

 

            “Father,” I finally managed. “There is something I need to tell you. It is about Mother.”

 

            Father shot a brief glance to Mordred before asking me with a hint of sternness in his tone, “What about your mother, Isobel?”

 

            “Isobel!” a sharp voice came from behind me as I heard the door open.

 

            I turned to see my mother storming into the room in her light blue gown, her curly blonde hair flying just past her shoulders.   
  


            I avoided her eyes as I spoke, “I am truly sorry Mother, but I believe your husband deserves the truth.” I looked back up to Father. “Father, last night I saw…”

 

            “Isobel, stop,” Mother protested taking a firm grip of my hand. “I told you, there is something you do not understand, and I do not think it is appropriate for Mordred to be here for this.”

 

            “Mordred is the one who helped me get through this!” I snapped, snatching back my hand. “He helped me come to terms with your betrayal!”

 

            This time Father began to speak, “Isobel…”

 

            “That is right, Father,” I interrupted, “She has betrayed you with Lancelot, your dear friend.”

 

            To my own astonishment, Father’s expression did not read a hint of surprise to this news. He simply sighed and nodded.

 

            “Are you not shocked, Father?” I demanded in frustration as tears began to stream along my cheeks.

 

            Father looked into my eyes, but could not seem to find the appropriate words.

 

            After a moment, Mother finally let out a huff, and looked to her husband. “I think you should tell your daughter the truth, Arthur.”

 

            “I agree, Arthur,” a voice came from behind the drapes that hung on the wall.

 

            Lancelot then revealed himself by stepping out from behind those curtains, dressed in his night robes. I let out a gasp.

 

            “Father, what is he doing in here?” I asked cautiously in a single breath.

 

            My father took in a deep inhale as he starred shamefully to the ground. “Isobel, your mother is not the one having an affair with Lancelot. It is I.”

 

            My mind began to spin, as I had no idea how to respond to this. The shock overwhelmed me to such extent I could barely turn my head to catch Mordred’s reaction. He, like me, seemed to be at a loss for words.

 

            I finally turned to Mother and spat, “Did you know about this?”

 

            Without speaking, she simply nodded.

 

            I kept looking back and forth between my parents as though they were both strangers, and finally starred directly at my father. “I cannot believe you would do this to our family.”

 

            No longer able to bear the presence of my parents, I turned to leave. Right now more than ever, I truly need to be alone.

 

            Just as I was about to make my exit, I heard Mordred’s bitter voice utter, “I can believe it.”

 

            I turned my head back to look at him. Mordred’s expression grew sudden darkness at this moment. It seemed as though here stood a completely different person. My feet remained firm on the ground, wondering what he had to say next.

 

            “After all,” Mordred continued, pacing dangerously towards where Father stood, “he committed incestuous acts with his own sister and then tried to kill the child that came from it.” He briefly glanced at Lancelot. “This chagrin comes as no shock to me.”

 

            “Arthur, what is he talking about?” Mother gasped, her hand flying over her mouth.

 

            Ignoring her, the king kept his glance on the boy who accused him of such abomination. “Mordred, I do not know what Morgana told you but you must let me explain.”

 

  1.             “What is there to explain?” Mordred demanded his tone picking up fury. “My mother told me everything you did, Your Majesty, or should I say, Father.”      



 

 


	9. Chapter 8 A Family Affair

_Chapter 8_

_A Family Affair_

            The harsh piercing ice air of silence filled the room. Everyone appeared too appalled for words, even Father, who must have known everything except for the fact that Mordred knew as well. I glanced over to the door, which seemed so far away even though it really stood only a few steps from me. The temptation to go through it and make a dash away overwhelmed me at the moment.

 

            After a few cold moments dragged by, my mother finally breathed in a tone barely above a whisper, “Is it true, Arthur? Is this boy really your son?”

 

            Father looked down shamefully and nodded. My own body had gone too numb to even move. I felt as though I was in the most terrifying part of a nightmare, the part in which I would normally wake up, only this time I did not.

 

            “By your sister, Morgana?” Mother continued her voice dazed.

 

            “Yes,” Father spoke aloud this time. “It happened just before you and I were promised to each other.”

 

            Mother now appeared stone cold, at a loss for words. I could not blame her, as I too have no idea what to say in this situation. I continued to look back and forth between both my parents, unable to bring myself to even glance at Mordred.

 

            Father then moved his eyes to Mordred and asked, “Why did you come here, Mordred? Please, tell me the truth.”

 

            Mordred casually strolled a couple steps closer to father and spoke dangerously, “There are two reasons actually, Arthur.” He tilted his head towards me but refused to look me in the eye. “One is to reclaim my birthright, and the other is revenge on you for trying to have me killed.”

 

            Father walked over to Mordred, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Mordred, my son, you have to believe I never attempted to have you killed. Yes, it is true, Merlin wanted it because of a prophecy he feared, but I tried to save you.”

 

            “Deceiver!” Mordred accused, jerking his body away. “My mother told me everything about what you tried to do that night. If she had not got there in time I would be dead now.”

 

            “Please, Mordred that is not true,” my father pleaded.

 

            “Are you calling my mother a liar?” Mordred accused in a flamed tone. “You are the one who forced yourself on her that night, and then you came back the night I was born and seized me from her.”

 

            “I never forced myself on your mother, Mordred,” the king assured in a genuine tone.

 

            I gazed up to my father with hopeful eyes. I desired so desperately to believe that he would not do any of this to his own sister or son, but the shock grew so intense I did not know what to believe anymore.

 

            Mordred shook his head furiously. “I do not believe you.”

 

            “Please, Mordred,” Arthur continued. “Your mother and I both had a lot to drink that night. I do not think either of us meant for that to happen.”

 

            I noticed that last sentence sounded more forced than the ones before. I wonder what actually did take place that night.

 

            Mordred continued to glare at him, bitterness filling his eyes. “You are full of lies.” Father shook his head, in continuous attempt to deny, but his son went on, “I have something against you, Arthur.” He shot Lancelot a brief look. “And when the kingdom finds out they will turn on you.”

 

            “And then what, Mordred?” the king demanded, raising his brow. “They will name you king? If you attempt this you will only tear the kingdom apart. If something were to happen to me, the people believe Isobel to be the rightful heir to the throne. Are you prepared to wage war against your own sister, who has done you no wrong, all because of a grudge against me?”

 

            Mordred did not answer but tilted his head slightly downward. His eyes still did not turn in my direction.

 

            Father, seemingly noticing this, ordered gently, “Look at her, Mordred.”

 

            Still, Mordred kept his eyes to the ground, refusing to speak.

 

            My father then turned to me and reached out his hand. “Isobel, come here.”

 

            I could feel the tears start to burn in my eyes as I slowly shook my head.

 

            “Isobel,” Father tried again, his arm still out.

 

            “No,” I finally managed to choke out as a tear ran down my cheek. “I will not.”

 

            I heard my mother gasp, but she offered no words. Mordred finally turned his head to face me but appeared too startled by my tone to say anything.

 

            “Isobel, he is your father,” Lancelot reminded me delicately.

 

            “I cannot,” I muttered and then turned my head to father and spoke more boldly, “You actually expect me to stand by you after all this, all these secrets you kept from me throughout the years?”

 

            “Isobel, please, you must understand,” Father begged, his hand falling to his side.

 

            “I understand enough!” I cried out as more tears formed.

 

            I looked to everyone in the room but there stood no one I could side with now. I could no longer bare the presence of anyone here.

 

            “You should be ashamed of yourselves, all of you!” I ululated before storming out of the room in rivers of tears.

 

            As I burst down the hall towards my chambers I tried to think of what to do now.  All I desire now is to make some sort of elusiveness from this kingdom and never return. Perhaps while Father and Mordred possibly battle this out, I can.

 

            “Isobel?” I heard a gentle voice call.

 

            I turned to see Gawain in his night garments, his expression containing both concern and puzzlement.

 

            “Isobel, what is going on? I thought I heard shouting.” He moved closer to the candlestick hanging on the wall and his eyes fell on my face. “Isobel, why are you crying? What happened?”

 

            As he comfortingly took hold of my shoulders, I shook my head. “I am afraid I cannot say.”

 

            Gawain pulled in into an embrace and said, soothingly, “Whatever it is, I am sure everything will turn out fine.”

 

            I did not respond. Instead, I merely gazed up into Gawain’s eyes desperately wishing I could have fallen in love with him instead, but alas, it was now too late. Even so, I slowly tilted my head up closer to his, our lips gently touching.

 

            As we broke away from each other, I spoke, “I know you will one day make a wonderful king, Gawain. You will do so much good for Camelot when that time comes.”

 

            Feeling slightly more at ease, I turned to the direction of my chambers, leaving Gawain too astonished by my strange behavior for words. I knew what I just spoke was true. Gawain will be a great king if given the chance. I just wish I could be around to see it, but with my mind made up now, I will not.

 

xXx

 

            I waited a few hours before I prepared for my departure, knowing it would be better to leave once more people are sound asleep. I packed a small bag of necessities including a dagger, some extra garments, and planned to sneak by the kitchen and snag some bread on my way out.

 

            Just as I was about to take my leave, I heard a knock on my door and my mother’s voice softly call my name.

 

            With haste, I stuffed my bag under the bed and scurried under the covers, pretending to be asleep.

 

            When she got no response, Mother let herself in. I felt her body sit on my bed beside me as she gently rubbed my back to awaken me. I had no choice but to open my eyes.

 

            “Isobel,” Mother said once she saw I was awake. “I wish I had more time to say everything I want but I am afraid I do not.”

 

            I sat up in my bed and saw that she wore a dark hooded cloak. Apparently she planed on departing as well, not that I blame her. I wonder if I could convince her to take me along.

 

            “Where are you going?” I inquired.

 

            “Lancelot and I confessed to having an affair,” Mother explained. “Since we both admitted this, Mordred’s word against your father will be useless. Lancelot and I are planning on escaping tonight. We are going to Castell, my home kingdom where we should be safe.”

 

            “Why would you do that for him?” I demanded bitterly. “After everything he has done and kept from you all these years, Mother, why?”

 

            My mother gently stroked my hair as she replied, “Despite everything, I still believe your father is the best king Camelot has ever seen. Isobel, if there were ever a time when your father needed his daughter by his side, it would be now. Please, my daughter, promise me that no matter what happens, no matter what Mordred says that you will stand by your father.”

 

            I gazed deeply into my mother’s pleading eyes wanting to say no, for I could not keep this oath. Although, I knew this might be the last time I see her for quite some time, perhaps forever. I could not have her last memory of me end in disappointment.

 

            I looked down and nodded. “I promise.”

 

            My mother gently kissed my forehead, saying goodbye. The next thing I knew she was gone. Soon I will be as well. I swung my legs over the side of my bed, landing on the floor and bent over the grab my bag.

 

            Once again, before I could depart, I heard another knock.

 

            _Now what?_ I rolled my eyes in frustration, thinking this had better not be Father.

 

            “Come in,” I called out, not even bothering to hide the fact that I planned to run away this time.

 

            My chamber door opened and Mordred entered.

 

            “What do you want?” I demanded, trying to suppress the fury in my voice.

 

            “I just came to see how you are?” Mordred answered, looking sincere. “I know all this must have come as quite a shock.”

 

            I began to move towards the door, still holding my bag. “It does not matter to me anymore.” Just as I started to open the door, I turned my head back to him. “Look, whatever claim you think you have on the throne, I will not stand in your way.”

 

            He lowered his eyes to my bag and asked softly, “Where are you going?”

 

            “To a nunnery,” I replied dully. “Where I can be away from this pandemonium.”

 

            To add further to my annoyance Mordred chuckled, asking, “Do you not think that would be a waste?”

 

            In fury, I whirled my entire body to face him. “Excuse me?”

 

            Mordred hastily held up both hands and shook his head. “No, Isobel, that is not what I meant. I only mean that there is so much good you can do for this kingdom, it would be quite a waste for you to just throw that all away.”

 

            My mood softening, I merely gazed at him curiously. “I thought you wished to reclaim the throne for yourself.”

 

            He nodded shamefully, but said, “It is true that was my original intention, but that was before I met you.” He then took my hand. “Isobel, Arthur was right about one thing. You are not to blame for what happened. Please, come with me. Once this is over, we can rule Camelot together.”

 

            I gaped at him apprehensively. “You cannot possibly think there is a way we can be together, Mordred. We are brother and sister.”

 

            “Only half siblings,” Mordred pointed out. “Please, Isobel. I really need you by my side now.”

 

            Avoiding his eyes, I shook my head and began to open the door.

 

            Mordred grabbed my arm. “Isobel, the people may never come to accept me as king, but they will listen to you.” With his other hand, he gently touched my cheek. “You are the only one in this family who remains pure. Please, consider the lies your father told you and what he did to his sister and tried to do to me. He cannot be allowed to remain as king. We must stop him for the sake of the kingdom. I cannot do it without you, Isobel. Please, come with me.”

 

            Once again I could feel the tears rise up within my eyes as I could finally see Mordred’s view point. It suddenly became even clearer to me of what I must do.

 

  1.             Tears streaming down my cheeks, I reluctantly nodded. “Okay, Mordred. I will go with you.”      



 

 


	10. Chapter 9 Nimueh

_Chapter 9_

_Nimueh_

            I awoke feeling surprisingly blissful considering the ordeal I went through just last night. Mordred and I left the castle just as planned, riding away on my horse, Celer. Since his mother’s kingdom was about a few days’ journey and we could not make much distance last night, we slept in the woods.

 

            As I sat up, I glanced over at Mordred to see that he remained sound asleep by the place we had lit a fire. Not wishing to disturb him, I stood up quietly and tiptoed away so I could have a walk. Strolling amongst the trees, listening to the birds singing their song, I smiled. For the first time in my life, I was free to do as I pleased now. Never had I felt such great liberty. The way this feeling swum throughout my entire body refreshed me, changing my whole view on life.

 

            With my senses picking up a watery breeze, I followed in that direction to find the lake. I beamed even more, recalling that this was the very location Mordred and I met. The memory of my heart dropping the moment he leaped off the cliff made seemed laughable now. I gazed up at the cliff and grinned as I thought of something I could do. Before I could talk myself out of my decision I dashed to the cliff and began to climb up. The higher I climbed the more my body began to shiver in both fright and exhilaration. I may be afraid, but in a way it came as a good feeling for I had never been allowed to put myself in a situation such as this.

 

            Upon reaching the top, I took a moment to have a look around. Still breathing quite heavily, I gazed about the tops of the trees. The birds hovered above still chirping.

 

My heartbeats grew heavier as I move my eyes to the water below. Without a second thought, I pulled in a deep inhale, threw my arms in the air, and jumped. The brief moment I spent in the air was incredible, almost as though I was flying even if I had no control of where I went. At first, when I hit the water it stung but then the cool liquid soothed my skin and my entire body relaxed under the water.

 

Closing my eyes, I floated quite peacefully until two arms wrapped around my hoisting me up above the water. My eyelids opened to find Mordred was the one who pulled me up.

 

“Isobel, are you okay?” he demanded, wearing a worried expression.

 

I giggled. “Of course I am okay.”

 

“You are actually laughing,” he uttered in a tone of disbelief. “You nearly gave me a heart-attack a moment ago and now you are laughing about it.”

 

I smacked his upper arm playfully. “What is the big deal? You said you do this all the time. I only wished to see what it was like.”

 

Mordred turned my body around and pointed, “I only jump from that mid ledge there, not the very top of the cliff.”

 

“Oh,” was all I could think to say before turning back to him and shrugging. “Well, I am okay now.”

 

Mordred gripped me slightly tighter. “Just promise me you will not do it again. Okay, Isobel?”

 

I grinned, still in a playful spirit. “Were you worried about me?”

 

He returned the smile and nodded. “Yes. Now, will you please promise me you will not do it again? I could not bare if anything were to happen to you.”

 

I let out a long exhale and then nodded. Looking into his eyes and feeling the firm grip he still had on my body, I felt the sudden urge to lean in closer, kissing him.

 

At first, he did not resist, but then pulled away and asked, “Isobel, do you not thing this is wrong?”

 

Too caught up in the moment, I continued to smile. “What does it matter? It is not as though anyone is here to watch. It is just you and I.”

 

Our moment seemed as though it could go on forever, but once we were interrupted it did not feel long enough. At the sound of branches snapping in the woods, both our heads turned in that direction.  
  


“Do you think someone is there?” I asked, looking through the trees.

 

Mordred shrugged, using one hand to brush his wet hair off his face. “It is likely just an animal.”

 

As he moved back in closer for another kiss we both heard it again. This time it was accompanied by a woman’s voice. Clearly, someone was there. Mordred and I both treaded back to shore, quickly drying ourselves as best we could before re-entering the woods to have a look. Mordred picked up his sword he had left just by the water and pointed it straight ahead.

 

“Who’s there?” he demanded, one hand firmly gripping his sword and the other taking hold of my own hand.

 

“You were right, Piper,” a dreamy voice said. “We do have visitors.”

 

From behind a fat oak tree, appeared a young woman with long curly blonde hair. She wore a simple snow-white dress with no sleeves that went down to her ankles. A plump little grey bird hung by her feet, fluttering its wings.

 

“What brings you to my home?” the woman asked sweetly. “I rarely ever get visitors.”

 

Mordred cautiously lowered his sword, but still kept a weary eye on this strange lady.

 

“We did not mean to intrude,” I explained feeling a slight rise in nerves. “We did not know anyone lived here.”

 

“Where exactly do you live?” Mordred inquired, his eyes scanning nearby surroundings.

 

The woman held out her hand to her side. “Why this oak tree, of course. The only problem is I am forever shut out and cannot re-enter.”

 

Both Mordred and eye looked at the tree. It did, in a way, appear to have an opening but had somehow been forced shut. Still, living in an oak tree seemed absurd.

 

“Why not find a new place to live?” I suggested quietly.

 

She frantically shook her head. “Oh no, Piper says I must remain here if I am ever to be reunited with _him_.”  

 

“Who is Piper?” Mordred demanded, pushing me behind him, “And who are you for that matter?”

 

“This is Piper.” She pointed at the little bird by her feet. “And I am Nimueh.”

 

Nimueh. That explained quite a bit. Clearly, she is just as mad as what I have been told. Once again, Mordred lifted his sword.

 

I grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

 

“We have to be careful,” Mordred explained in a hushed tone. “From what my mother told me of her, Nimueh is quite dangerous.”

 

“I do not think she wishes us any harm,” I protested forcing him to lower his sword. “Perhaps it is best we simply leave.”

 

Mordred let out a huff but agreed. I bid Nimueh farewell and muttered something about good luck with her home even though I was not entirely sure on what I was talking about. I wonder what she meant by _him_. Merlin, perhaps?

 

Walking away turned out to be surprisingly easy. Nimueh did not seem to take much note on our leaving. She merely hummed a tune and strolled back around behind her oak tree. I could not imagine anything stranger than this encounter.

 

xXx

 

            That night, although Mordred and I made some more distance, we were still forced to sleep out in the woods. I did not mind as I found the outside breeze to be quite relaxing. I almost wish the two of us could live like this forever, alone in the woods with no one to ever bother us or judge us for that matter. We would truly be free.

 

            As I lay on my bad with my eyes wide open, I heard a soft singing voice calling my name. At first, I thought it to be only a dream until I sat up more alert and the tune remained in the winds. Could this be Nimueh?

 

            My question soon became answered as the figure of this strange young woman appeared between the two trees in front of me.

 

            “Mordred,” I whispered urgently. “Mordred, wake up.”

 

            “He will not awaken,” Nimueh sung soothingly. “For I have enchanted him.”

 

            “Why?” I demanded moving my body back.

 

            “There is nothing to be frightened of, my dear,” Nimueh explained, in a comforting tone. “I only wish to speak with you alone.”

 

            As I began to shake my head, Nimueh began to slowly stroll over to me. Her eyes appeared more stone like now.

 

            “I do not have to awaken the boy, darling,” she spoke in a more harsh voice. “For the sake of Camelot, it would be better if he remained in this state.”

 

            I drew in a sharp breath as I shot a petrified glance at both Mordred and Nimueh.

 

            “Please,” I begged. “Why are you doing this? What has Mordred done to you?”

 

            “My grudge is not against him,” Nimueh stated, her tone now airy. “It is his mother, but soon Camelot will be held accountable for his actions.”

 

            I raised my eyebrow. _Am I supposed to believe a woman who talks to birds?_

 

            When I offered her no response, she continued, “You have already seen it, my dear princess, have you not? You should know very well what this boy is capable of.”

 

            “I do not know what you are talking about,” I stated annoyed. “I have not seen any such thing.”

 

            Nimueh’s body moved back through the tree, her vaporous voice uttering, “Perhaps you may have only heard it, but it is true, Princess Isobel. Remember…”

 

            The moment she vanished my chest seemed to form a piercing hole as I had a sudden recollection. My heart crumbled as I gazed down upon my sleeping brother of whom I had come to love so dearly, and remembered the very first prophecy I ever had. _The bastard will bring forth the fall of Camelot._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 10 Morgana and Lot

_Chapter 10_

_Morgana and Lot_

            Near the end of our journey, Mordred and I rode up to the entrance gates of Morgana’s kingdom. The lands appeared rather dried out and crusty. The peasants for the most part, kept to themselves, barely making eye contact with Mordred and me as we past by on Celer. The deeper we went within the town, the more discomfort my body began to feel. My mind also remained mostly occupied on the prophecy.

 

            I wrapped my arms tighter around Mordred’s waist and whispered in his ear. “Mordred, what exactly is the plan, now?”  

 

            “Well, I was planning to introduce you to my mother,” Mordred answered in a pitch slightly above a whisper. “I know you will like her. She can help you grasps a better understanding of your magical abilities as well since you two seem to have similar styles.”

 

            “Yes, that would be nice,” I muttered, “but I meant of your, or her, plans for Camelot.”

 

            Mordred’s tone carried a hint of caution as he spoke, “Well, as you I plan to reclaim my birthright, but now I know I want you at my side.”

 

            “And if the king does not willingly name you heir,” I asked, trying to suppress the choke in my voice, “will there be a war?”

 

            Mordred let out a sigh. “Sadly, I am afraid so, but you must understand, Isobel, sometimes in order to achieve what is best, sacrifices must be made.”

 

            “So you truly do want what is best for Camelot?” I inquired in a hushed tone, resting my head against his back.

 

            “Of course, Isobel,” Mordred replied, startled. “You should already know that by now.”

 

            “My… I mean our father always seemed to want the same thing,” I replied heavily.

 

            “Well, now you know the truth about him,” he responded with a dash of bitterness.

 

            I took in a deep breath before adding, “You know, despite everything Father has done, I cannot believe that he would ever attempt to harm a baby, especially his own son.”

 

            With momentary pause, he answered with, “Mother says Merlin likely had a great influence on that action but it still does not change the fact that Arthur was the one to do it.” He took in a long inhale and then added, “I know my mother would never lie to me.”

 

            I sighed knowing that at this moment I could not change Mordred’s mind on our father. Still, I have an intense instinct telling me that Father did not really wish to kill Mordred. Also, I cannot accept that Mordred will intend on bringing forth the fall of Camelot, but what of his mother? Never having met Morgana, I do not know of her true intentions for the future of Camelot. Remembering what my Aunt Morgause said, she is quite hung up on vengeance, but that was years ago. Perhaps she has changed since then. I figured best wait until I can meet her for myself. Seeing the tall dark castle in short distance, I knew that moment was soon to come.

 

            At the palace doors, Mordred and I dismounted Celer and one of the guards led the horse away. Mordred then took my hand and together we went inside, the hall leading directly to the main throne room, where his mother awaited us.

 

Morgana appeared even more beautiful than I imagined. She stood tall and slender, with thick luscious wavy brown hair. Her neck was long and dainty, her cheekbones rose high, and she wore a dark red gown, with sheer fabric along the back of her dress to the sleeves.

 

Her deep red lips formed a smile at the sight of her son. “Mordred, my son, welcome home.”

 

Morgana seemingly glided down the steps to embrace her beloved offspring. Her smile vanished when her eyes met mine.

 

My aunt spoke in a calm yet sharp tone. “Mordred, dear, who is this?”

 

Mordred broke away from his mother and took my hand. “Mother, I would like you to meet Isobel.”

 

“Princess Isobel.” Morgana’s eyes were piercing cold. “The one and only daughter of Arthur and Guinevere.”

 

“Well, yes, but Mother I ensure you she is on our side,” Mordred insisted. “I have told her everything about Arthur and she wants to help.”

 

Morgana gazed deeply into my eyes, unconvinced, but said, “I see.” Her head turned to the servants standing by the sidewall. “Thomas, please show Princess Isobel to the guest chambers.”

 

Before I was led away, the doors burst open and a tall rough in armor man entered. He wore a rusty bronze crown over his dark brown hair and had a short trimmed patchy beard. I noticed as he sauntered past Mordred he gave him a brief harsh glare with was indeed returned. However, upon reaching Morgana, he grinned.

 

“Lot, it is good to have you back,” Morgana welcomed warmly, allowing him to briefly kiss her lips.

 

“Good to be back,” Lot agreed, and then gave Mordred a weary look. “I see your boy’s returned as well. Any news of Camelot?” His dark brown eyes then fell on me. “Who’s the girl?”

 

“Later, darling,” Morgana whispered and then gave her servant an irritated look. “Thomas, I said away with her now. Go on.”

 

As I was led away a realization hit me about this man. King Lot was Morgause’s husband, Gawain’s father. What was he doing here with Morgana? I could already see my coming here was a mistake, but perhaps I could mend it. First, I must find a way to unveil Morgana’s true intentions for Arthur and Camelot.

 

xXx

 

            That evening, I pulled out a black cloak and snuck about the castle walls until I discovered Morgana’s whereabouts. I eventually found her through a back entrance to an apparent meeting room similar to the one in my own castle with the round table.

 

            “So you are saying not only did your son fail to kill Arthur but he brought his daughter into our lands?” Lot fumed in a rant.

 

            “He was not supposed to kill Arthur now,” Morgana answered calmly. “The plan was for him to use the girl to find something against Arthur that will turn his kingdom against him, which he indeed did successfully.”

 

            I let out a gasps, throwing my hand over my mouth so it would go unheard. So this was the real reason Mordred came to Camelot, to turn the people against my father.

 

            “Yes,” Lot continued in a husky voice, “and his discovery only resulted in the departure of the queen. The people of Camelot still remain loyal to him.”

 

            “Well, look at it this way,” Morgana reasoned, “because of Mordred, Arthur is now without his wife or daughter. That will no doubt wound him deeply.”

 

            “He still has my wife and son,” Lot grumbled.

 

            Morgana sighed. “Yes, I have tried to convince my sister that our brother is no different from his father, but she simply does not see it as I do.”

 

            “Every time I look at Arthur, I see that tyrant, Uther,” Lot added with more bitterness. “I tried to convince Gawain to side with me, but it seems Arthur has brainwashed him.” He pounded his fist against the table. “I want to see him dead, now, put in the grave with his father. I will do it myself if I must.”

 

            “Now, Lot darling, I have told you before Mordred is the only one who can do it,” Morgana informed in a sharp tone. “That is what my prophecy says.”

 

            Hearing Mordred’s name again pierced my heart. All this time, after I have come to trust him, his goal was simply to murder my father, all for his mother’s revenge.

 

            “Mordred does not know he is meant to actually kill Arthur,” Lot barked viciously. “He thinks he is meant to save Camelot from the current king’s tyranny. What if he decides not to go through with it when the time comes?”

 

             I saw Morgana’s lips curl into a smirk. “Oh, he will, Lot. I assure you he will. Throughout the years I brought Mordred up to despise Arthur just as I do. No doubt, when the opportune moment arrives, he will gladly drive the sword through Arthur’s heart.”  

 

            “He better,” Lot went on darkly, “or perhaps I will…”

 

            “Lot!” Morgana’s voice flamed, her eyes turning darker as they starred dangerously the now kneeling king. “If you so much as think a threat against my son I will end you right where you stand.”

 

            “My apologies, Morgana,” Lot muttered, rising to his feet. “I did not mean to. I just hope your son realizes that… well, perhaps you should speak with him just to be sure.”

 

            “Very well,” Morgana agreed as she proceeded to have her son called in.

 

            Moments later, Mordred appeared giving his mother a brief bow while looking at Lot with caution. “Yes, mother. Why have you summoned me?”

 

            Seeing Mordred now, I did not know what to think. Perhaps he does not wish the same fate on my father as his mother does but it still does not change what he did and the lies he told me about his true intentions.

 

            “I…” Morgana began but then glanced at Lot, “we only wish to be sure you know what you must do now in order to succeed in our plans for Arthur. I am sure you understand by now there will be a great battle in short time, and in it you cannot show mercy.”

 

            “You mean, kill Arthur,” Mordred answered quietly, his head down. “Mother, I have been thinking, perhaps there is a different way to approach this.”

 

            “I knew it!” Lot raged, grabbing hold of Mordred’s shirt forcefully. “This boy is too weak to go through with it!”

 

            “Lot!” Morgana bellowed and then ordered more calmly, “Release him.”

 

            The moment Lot loosened his grip, Mordred walked closer to Morgana. “Mother, I wish to speak with you alone.”

 

            Lot took hold of Mordred’s shoulder, forcing him to turn. “What you tell her you can tell me, boy.”

 

            Morgana then pulled her son out of his grasp and said, “Lot, leave us.”

 

            “I will not,” Lot protested. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

 

            Morgana’s eyes, once again turned to cold dark stone. “I said leave us.”

 

            With reluctance, Lot look a brief bow and stormed out of the room. My heart jumped as the door slammed behind him. I leaned my head in more closely, desperate to hear what Mordred had to say.

 

            “Why does he have to be here?” Mordred grumbled, no doubt referring to Lot. “I cannot stand that man.”

 

            Morgana gently stroked her son’s cheek in comfort. “I know he can be a bit brutal at times, but in our war against Arthur, we need all the support we can get.” She then sat at the table, beckoning for him to join. “Now, tell me, Mordred dear. What is the cause of these sudden doubts you are having about slaying the king? You understand you are capable of defeating him, and you will then no doubt be a remarkable king who restores peace to Camelot.”

 

            Mordred sighed and gave a brief nod.

 

            “Then what is the matter, darling,” Morgana inquired gently, but I picked up a hint of darkness as she then asked, “Is it the girl? Did she say something that got to you?” She paused for a moment, giving Mordred a moment to answer, in which he did not take. “Tell me the truth, my son, why did you bring her here? You were supposed to use her to get close to Arthur, nothing more.”

 

            He paused, seemingly reluctant to answer his mother but finally stated, “Something has changed since then, Mother.”

 

            “And what might that be?” Morgana demanded.

 

            Mordred’s breath was deep and his voice sincere as he answered simply, “I love her.”

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 11 Vulnerability

_Chapter 11_

_Vulnerability_

            My entire body froze to stone at Mordred’s recent revelation. Just as I believe it impossible for my mind to feel more mystification this happens.

 

            Morgana’s expression appeared just as daunted as my own, perhaps even more so. The difference, however, in our emotions seemed to be that her face read more anger than mine.

 

            After a few moments of silence past, Morgana’s hand rose up and slapped her son right across his cheek.

 

            “How can you let these feelings emerge, Mordred?” she raged, rising up from her chair. “She is not only your sister but your enemy, the one thing that stands between you and the throne of Camelot!”

 

            Mordred put his hand to his cheek and muttered, “I thought Arthur was what stood between me and the throne.”

 

            “Yes and she is Arthur’s daughter!” Morgana snapped. “That makes her your rival.”  
  


            “Isobel does not feel that way,” Mordred protested more boldly, trying to overcome a choke in his voice. “I know she does not.”

 

            Morgana turned around to look upon her son, who still held touched the very spot where she had hit him and her expression softened. She sat back down on the chair next to Mordred and placed her hand over his.

 

            “I am sorry, Mordred,” she consoled more gently. “I am only afraid this girl will hurt you just as your father hurt me. She may insist she is on our side now, but that does not change the fact that she was brought up by Arthur. It will take a great deal more to sever her loyalties from him.”

 

            “I know I have Isobel’s support,” Mordred stated firmly, and then pulled his hand away, hitting it against the table. “But even if not, nothing would change. I still want revenge on Arthur for what he has done just as you do, Mother. That will never change.”

 

            A satisfied smile formed across Morgana’s face as she embraced her son.

 

xXx

 

            Last night I was consumed of thoughts from the conversation I heard I am amazed my mind allowed me any slumber at all. I do not know what to do now. All I know for certain is that Mordred plans to kill Father, and despite everything, I cannot let that happen.

 

            I wish I knew the entire truth of the history between Arthur and Morgana. I still cannot believe my father to be the kind of man who would force himself on any unwilling woman or try to murder his own son. Something is missing and I must discover just what that piece is.

 

            I then heard a knock on the doors to the guest chambers in which I currently remained.

 

            “Yes?” I asked drearily.

 

The door opened and a short thin man in servant’s attire appeared.

 

            “Queen Morgana wishes to have a word with you, Princess Isobel,” he announced.

 

            I sighed, knowing this would no doubt be something to dread, but still managed a nod. Once dressed, I was shown to the very same room I observed Morgana and Mordred just last night. Morgana sat at the head of the table in a blood red gown with a dangerous look in her eyes yet she still smiled as I entered the room.

 

            She held her hand to the chair at the other end and spoke in pretense gentleness, “Please, Princess Isobel, have a seat.”

 

            Without a word, I sat down. A discomforting twinge crawled down my spine. Up close, Morgana’s smile seemed slyer.

 

            “You are likely wondering why I have summoned you here,” she began, her tone steady.

 

            I tried to meet her eyes bravely. “I assume you wish to question me on my loyalties.”

 

            “There is no need for that,” Morgana explained. “I know your heart will always truly be with your father. You may think you have changed now but in time you will return to him. I can see it.”

 

            _Does she mean by vision or prophecy?_ I wondered but dared not ask. Instead I went with, “If you truly believe me to be the enemy then why not have me killed? There is no one here to protect me.”

 

            She chuckled. “I wish it were that easy but I fear I cannot. You see my son has developed quite a strong attachment to you. I can see killing you would destroy him and he would be unable to achieve my goals. You have quite a strong hold on Mordred, Isobel.”

 

            _As do you,_ I thought back, but instead asked, “And what goals might that be, revenge on my father? I do not believe he has done anything you accused him of.”

 

            She raised her eyebrow. “Have you _seen_ it?”

 

            Unknowing of what she meant, I gawked at her with cloudy eyes.

 

            Morgana then explained, “Mordred tells me you have magic. Have you had a vision of the events of that night?”

 

            I moved my eyes down and shook my head. I have never considered the possibility of having premonitions of the past.

 

            “Well then.” She gazed upon me. “It seems you do not know the truth in that case.”

 

            “I know my father,” I retorted, lifting my head back up to face her straight on. “Morgause told me of your bitter feelings towards my grandfather, Uther, and how you still hold the grudge against his son for it.”

 

            “For a good reason,” she declared bitterly. “Uther stole my mother away from my father and then slew him.”

 

            “My father is not to blame for that,” I stated sharply.

 

            Morgana slammed her fist against the table in fury. “Yes he is! You see, Merlin would have never allowed for that sort of betrayal to happen in a marriage! He only stopped trying to prevent Uther’s lustful actions because of a vision he had, a vision of a great king that would be born of Uther and Igraine, Arthur.”

 

            “He still had no control over that,” I fired back, “and he does not deserve to have his own son wage war against him. You poisoned Mordred’s mind against him!”

 

            “Arthur never wanted Mordred!” Morgana raged. “Whatever visions you may get, in none will you see Arthur ever make an attempt to keep Mordred and my son knows that. Nothing will change his mind. There will be a war, Isobel, and Mordred will win.” She paused and then added more calmly, “I think its best you leave now, Isobel, and you better pray my son’s feeling for you remain strong.”

 

            I stood up, without another word, and walked out of the room. The moment the door shut behind me, I felt a chilled wind touch my skin, the same as the night I had my first prophecy. The scenery in front of me vanished replaced by a new vision of Arthur and Morgana sitting together laughing and drinking. My heart pounded heavily. Their much younger appearance told me this must be that night. I then saw everything, Morgana standing up beckoning my father to follow, and then her forcefully pushing him on the bed. My vision then skipped to Arthur rescuing Mordred from Merlin’s grasps. I saw him desperately trying to find Mordred a decent home where he would have a peaceful life. The very last words I heard my father say to his son before the vision ended were, ‘I love you.’

 

            After this premonition, I made no hesitation to seek out Mordred. I learned the location of his chambers and dashed in that direction before I could be stopped by anyone, including myself. I forced all my anger caused by his deceitfulness in Camelot to the back of my mind, reminding myself that he is just as much a victim in Morgana’s plot as I am. He must know the truth.

 

            The moment I reached his room, I urgently knocked on the door. “Mordred! Mordred, it is Isobel. May I please enter?” At the notion of his approval, I burst in. “Mordred, there is something I must tell you!”

 

            I found him, tying up his shirt, his armor and weapons shattered just by his feet. He barely glanced at me as I entered.

 

            “Isobel,” he spoke softly. “I have urgent business to attend to now. I am afraid this must wait. We can talk tonight.”

 

            I shook my head desperately and grabbed his arm. “We must talk now. I had a vision of the night you were conceived.”

 

            His hands froze, but he still did not meet my eyes. “Isobel, I do not know what you saw, but I assure you it will likely not change anything.”

 

            “Morgana was the one who forced herself on our father,” I declared before he could stop me.

 

            Mordred paused a moment before shaking his head. “My mother would never do something like that.”

 

            I huffed knowing turning him against his mother was a lost cause. “Fine, perhaps they both simply had too much to drink. I also saw Father trying to save you. He wanted you to have a good, content life.”

 

            “Yet he still did not want me,” Mordred muttered darkly. “It does not change the fact that he abandoned me.”

 

            “He did not have a choice, Mordred,” I protested. “Merlin was the one who declared you could not be allowed to live, and everyone knows his word is always final.”

 

            Mordred sighed, gazing down sadly. “Mother warned me you would always be loyal to Arthur no matter what.”

 

            “This is not just a matter of loyalty!” I stammered in frustration. “You need to know the truth.”

 

            He shook his head, grabbed his armor and made his way to the door. “I do not have time for this, Isobel.”

 

            “Mordred, wait!” I once again took hold of his arm, as a sudden idea sprouted in my mind. “Perhaps I can show you what I saw.”

 

            “Isobel,” he protested but I forcefully grabbed his other hand causing him to drop his armor.

 

            I did not know whether or not this would even be possible but as desperate as I am now, I must try. I squeezed both his hands tightly, closing my eyes in attempt to will the vision back. Alas, nothing happened.

 

Eventually, Mordred pulled away and picked up his armor. “I really must go, Isobel. I will come back and visit you tonight.”

 

With that, he marched out, leaving me standing alone in his room, both hands still up in the air where Mordred had let go. Never before had I felt so lost. There must be some way I could make him understand.

 

“The cold winds reveal their secret,” a familiar hushed voice said from behind me.

 

I turned my head to spot Nimueh sitting on the window and the sunlight reflecting her blatantly shining curls. She did not look directly at me, as her eyes floated dreamily towards the ceiling.

 

“How did you get here?” I asked.

 

“When you carry as much magic as I, you will find yourself able to be wherever you are needed,” she explained. “Piper tells me you are at a dilemma.”

 

I took in a deep breath and then said, “I believe I can stop Mordred, but first I must make him understand what I saw. Is there even a way I can show him my vision?”

 

She leaped from the window, her bare feet hitting the floor. “A way there might be, if the boy was not so consumed by hatred. Feelings such as these will always make him resistant and with this resistance he will never see the truth.”

 

“So how do I make him not resistant?” I asked, rubbing my head.

 

Her sharp crystal blue eyes finally met mine. “He must be made vulnerable for only at his most vulnerable state will he be able to show no resistance.”

 

“Okay.” My hand flew back down by my side. “So what do I do to make him vulnerable?”

 

Nimueh cocked her head and smiled. “The answer will soon come to you, but you must be willing to do anything if you desire to achieve your will.”

 

Before I could inquire of any more details, she jumped up to the window and vanished behind the curtains, leaving me at a loss of ideas. What could I do to make Mordred vulnerable so I could force him to see what I saw?

 

I sank to his bed in despair. As my hand touched his sheets where he would sleep, an idea entered my thoughts. I knew this would indeed be successful, but did I have the courage? I felt filth flow through me, as my bloodstream became replaced with the water of a dirty lake. I will never see my body the same after this, but I know I must go through with it for the sake of Arthur, Mordred, and Camelot.

 

xXx

 

            That evening I waited in Mordred’s chambers for him to return. I took from his mother’s closet the very same gown she wore that night she seduced my father in hopes it would help trigger the vision. As I sat on his bed waiting, I gazed at the candle softly flaming by his bedside in a daze.

 

            The moment the doors opened, my heart took a sharp stabbing beat. I had to force my breath to flow calmly.

 

            “Hello, Mordred,” I greeted as he walked into the light.

 

            He looked at me startled. “Isobel, I did not expect you to be here.”

 

            “You said we would talk tonight, remember?” I asked in a tone barely above a whisper.

 

            He sighed, appearing as though he would dread this. “Yes, I suppose I did. But keep in mind, Isobel, nothing you say will turn me against my mother.”

 

            I nodded, understanding. “I know. I do not wish to turn you against her, Mordred. I know you love her.”

 

            He took off his armor, now wearing only a white shirt and sat down on the bed beside. My hands began to shiver, but I still took hold of his.

 

            Mordred let out a sigh. “Isobel, I know my mother can be hard at times, but you have to understand, she is truly the only one who has ever cared about me. I have to remain loyal to her, despite what she can be.”

 

            I took in a deep breath before I barely got out in a quivering voice, “That is not true, Mordred.”

 

            He looked at me sharply. “Isobel…”

 

            “I care about you too, Mordred,” I stated in a stronger tone before he could finish, and then gazed directly into his eyes. “I love you.”

 

              I gently placed my hand on his shoulder and leaned in closer to his body. The moment our lips touched, I wrapped both arms around him. As he held me, I could feel the warmth of his skin against me with every muscle twining. We then gradually descended leveled on his bed. As our passions grew more intense, I turned my head to see the flames of the candle about to burn out.   




 


	13. Excalibur

_Chapter 12_

_Excalibur_

            Lying side by side with Mordred on his bed, I turned my head with ease to look upon him. His chest rose up and down with heavy breaths and his eyes gazed straight up to the ceiling. He appeared relaxed with his guard down, thus making him vulnerable. This was my moment, the only chance I may ever have. Without any further hesitation, I seized it, flinging my body over him. My hands restrained each of his as I closed my eyes, willing my vision back. This time it indeed worked. I once again observed the same scenes with my father, Morgana and Mordred played out before me. By the expression upon Mordred’s face, I knew he could see it too.

 

            Once it was over, I silently fell back to my side of the bed, giving him a chance to absorb this. His face remained stunned, and he seemed unsure of what to say or do now.

 

            “Mordred?” I asked gently after the moments past.

 

            Without a response, Mordred’s eyes remained fixated on the ceiling.

 

            I took his hand and tried again. “Mordred?”

 

            He pulled his hand away and sat up, then proceeding to re-dress and move towards the door.

 

            “Mordred!” I almost came to a salvo as I sat up in bed. “Where are you going?”

 

            “I need to be alone,” he muttered before stepping out, the door slamming behind him.

 

            I remained seated with the sheets pulled up over me in dismay. If this plan fails I am at a loss of what to try next. I then decided, despite what Mordred says, I must go to him now, before his mother is given the opportunity to further warp his mind.

 

            I slipped Morgana’s gown back on and went out in search for Mordred. Briefly glancing out the window, I saw morning was soon to come with the sunlight beginning to shimmer at the horizon. While wondering if Morgana has awakened, I felt the urge to hurry.  

 

            As I moved further down the hall, I caught sound of voices coming from one of the chambers. I moved closer and made out the voices of Morgana and Lot and then pressed my ear against the door to better hear them.

 

            “The time is soon to come, Morgana,” Lot said in a husky tone. “Are you certain your son is ready?”  

 

            “He was born ready,” Morgana proclaimed, her voice filled with great pride.

 

            Despite her assurance, Lot remained doubtful. “Are you sure he can even win? From what I hear, Arthur will be a tough man to kill.”

 

            “So long as he possesses Excalibur he will no doubt win,” Morgana spoke with confidence. “That is what my prophecy foretold.”

 

            “And you have the sword?” Lot inquired.

 

            I pictured Morgana nodded with a sneer as she spoke her next statement. “I snatched it from the Lady of the Lake myself. I plan to present the sword to Mordred this very day.”

 

            As I rose up, planning to seek out Mordred before this, I accidentally bumped the door.

 

            “Is someone out there?” Lot demanded.

 

            Without further hesitation, I prepared to dash but soon found a dilemma.

 

            “Guards!” Morgana’s voice bellowed as she stepped out of her bedroom.

 

            Before I could react, armed men appeared almost as though from out of the wall itself, pointing their blades directly at me. I slowly raised my hands up and turned to face Morgana.

 

            “You seem to have quite a knack for getting into trouble, my dear,” she commented in a sneering tone.

 

            I fixated my eyes on her head on and spoke boldly, “I know the truth now, and so does Mordred. He will not follow you anymore.”

 

            She casually strolled over towards me. “Is that so? Well, I suppose I will have to see what I can do about that.”

 

            In a slithery voice, she breathed a phrase I could not make out. I then felt a warm breeze brush against my skin, my mind growing foggy. My body went limp and began to collapse to the ground as I fell into a deep slumber.

 

xXx

 

            I awoke with my insides still feeling slight numbness. As I forced my body to an upright position, I found myself on a soft cushion in the corner of a dim lit room. I saw a stairway leading up to the exit door so I assumed I was underground. Moving my eyes along the room, I then saw Morgana sitting at a small wooden round table as though she had been waiting for me to awaken.

 

            “Well, I must say,” Morgana began with a smirk once she observed my conscious self, “that was the most effective sleeping charm I have ever performed.”

 

            “How long was I asleep?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

 

            “Just a little more than a week,” she responded casually tapping her fingers against the table.

 

            I stood up to my feet and demanded, “Where is Mordred?”

 

            She, too, rose, her ocean blue gown swaying around her legs. “Mordred is not any of your concern at the moment. What you should worry about now is me, seeing as I still have not decided what to do with you.”

 

            I took a couple steps towards her, concealing my fear. “I thought it would destroy Mordred if any harm were to come to me.”

 

            Morgana let out a sigh. “For now, perhaps but that could change in time. After all, Mordred will not want to be with someone who shows more loyalty to his nemesis than to him.”

 

            I started to move towards the door. “I need to find him.” 

 

            “The door is locked. Only my magic will open it,” Morgana informed as she casually strolled over in my direction. “I am afraid you have no choice but to stay here with me.”

 

            “I want to talk to Mordred,” I stated firmly. “You cannot keep me in here forever.”

 

            “I only need a little longer,” Morgana said smugly. “If you did not insist on constantly attempting to turn my son against me then holding you here would not be necessary.”

 

            I crossed my arms. “He deserves to know the truth.”

 

            “Mordred deserves what he was rightfully born to,” she fired back. “Thanks to you, it took quite a deal of persuasion to remind him that I am the only one who truly cares about what is best for him.”

 

            I felt my heart make a sudden drop to the bottom of my stomach.

 

            Observing my crestfallen expression, Morgana added, “Yes, with you out of the way I was able to remind Mordred that, despite whatever you may have shown him, his father still abandoned him as an infant and he still has a legitimate claim to the throne of Camelot in which he was denied. I also pointed that rather than standing up to Merlin, Arthur chose to get rid of his own son.”

 

            I felt tears begin to form in my eyes as I could already feel I would not like the answer to my next question. “Where is Mordred?”

 

            Morgana walked closer to the wall, stroking her fingers against the weaponry. “Mordred is, at this moment, away in battle.”

 

            “No,” I breathed out in a heartbroken breath. “I am too late.”

 

            Morgana let out a pretentious sigh. “Yes, indeed, I am afraid it is too late for my dear brother.”

 

            As I wiped away my burning tears, I felt the fury within me begin to boil. I turned my body to face Morgana directly, slamming my fists against the table.

 

            “How can you be so sure my father will not be the one victorious?” I stammered, feeling my veins run hot. “What makes you so certain Mordred will be the winner? If he slays Mordred your sheer lust for vengeance will have brought about the death of your own son.”

 

            “He carries with him the sword, Excalibur,” Morgana answered reminding me of her previous conversation with Lot. “As long as he possesses the sword he is guaranteed victory.”

 

            Unknowing of what to do or say next, I sank down to one of the chairs in despair. I could not even bare to think of what will happen next. Would Mordred really kill Father despite what I showed him in my vision? With Morgana’s influence, I believed that to be truly possible. There was nothing I could do anymore.

 

            I put both hands on my head as I leaned on the table. When I gazed towards the cushion I had been sleeping on, my eyes caught sight of something silver poking out from underneath. Curiously, I stood up and walked over to see what it was. Once I lifted the cushion up, I let out a gasp.

 

            “What is it?” Morgana asked in a fatigued tone from across the room.

 

            Without words, I merely pulled out the powerful sword and turned around, revealing it to Morgana. The moment her eyes fell upon Excalibur, she breath out a sharp rush of air, her hand flew to her mouth as her entire complexion transformed into a ghastly white.

 

            “He did not take it,” she panicked in a hushed voice. “Why would he not take the sword?”

 

            I starred down at the sword in my hand, unknowing of how to respond. At that moment, Morgana collapsed to her knees and her eyes turned to this grey fog. I rushed over to her assuming that she was having a vision.

 

            The instant her eyes cleared, I demanded, “What did you see?”

 

            She only shook her head, mumbling no as tears began to form in her eyes.

 

            “Morgana!” I tried again but received no response.

 

I shook her shoulder with my free hand in attempt to snap her out of her daze. She then grabs my arm, digging her shivering nails into my skin, her eyes fixated on the sword in my right hand.

 

She then let out a harsh breath containing the words, “Save my son.”

 


	14. Chapter 13 The Battle

_Chapter 13_

_The Battle_

            The wind blew my hair back behind my shoulders as I rode my horse towards the battle scene with Excalibur tied to the saddle. I did not waste any time asking Morgana exactly what she saw in her vision, but the effect it appeared to have on her told me enough. Mordred will find himself in grave danger if he has not already. My feet frantically kicked my horse willing her to move with more speed. I do hope I am not too late.

 

            At the sound of swords clashing together, I knew I must be close. I gazed about the field, seeing the grass appearing so soft and the sun shimmering right above my head. Everything seemed so peaceful at this moment I found difficulty believing if I kept riding straight ahead I would approach a blood seeping battle.

 

            As I continued closer to the scene, I could already smell the war before it came into sight. The grounds reeked of decaying corpses and dried up blood. I rode just up the hill and at last came into the actual battlefield. I flung my hand over my mouth, as it had to be the most ghastly sight my eyes had ever fallen upon. Blood soaked shredded bodies were scattered about amongst the field. Even men, who appeared as though they may just fall to the ground dead, desperately clutched their weapons unwilling to go down without one final fight. It was quite pitiful to watch.

 

            I scanned the grounds in search of either Father or Mordred. Straight ahead, towards the center of the scene, I spotted both of them in heated battle with Lot fighting nearby. Without any further hesitation, I had Celer gallop in their direction. Unfortunately, her reins were snatched by one of the knights. The horse stood up on its hind legs in attempt to break free which resulted in me being thrusts in the air. The instant I landed I was grabbed by one of Morgana’s men. Just as he raised his weapon against me, I saw a metal blade appear through his gut. The man fell to the ground and I saw Gawain standing behind him, his sword covered in blood.

 

            “Isobel!” Gawain rushed over to me, grabbing my shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

 

            “I have not the time to explain,” I panted, looking in the direction I saw Father and Mordred. “I have to get to my father.”

 

            We were then attacked by two more of Morgana’s men. Gawain raised his weapon prepared to take them on. While fighting, he briefly managed to turn his head to me, telling me to go. I first quickly rushed over to Celer and snatched Excalibur before moving towards my father and brother to stop them both from doing something they would surely regret. I hid the sword under my cloak planning only to use it only in absolute need.  

 

            Once I stepped closer, I saw Mordred knock Father to the ground just the same as that night they were practicing together, only this time it was real. Mordred had his sword raised up in the air ready to strike.

 

            “Mordred, NO!” I bawled, running up to him.

 

            “Restrain her!” Lot barked in fury.

 

            The next thing I knew, both of my arms were grabbed, preventing me from moving any further. Mordred briefly turned his head, his sword still in the air, but soon turned back to Father.

 

            “What are you waiting for, boy,” Lot bellowed. “Do it! Finish him off!”

 

            “Mordred,” Father spoke out in a heavy breath, beads of sweat shining on his forehead. “Please, before you do this, I wish to say something.”

 

            Mordred’s arm did not move. From my angle, I could not tell if he nodded.

 

            Either way, Father continued, “I just want to say I am truly sorry I could not be there for you, Mordred. Of all the regrets I have in life, that is the deepest one. No matter what happens here, you will always be my son. I love you.”

 

            Father’s last words sparked a memory and I shouted out, “Mordred, remember the vision I showed you. Please, Mordred.”

 

            Mordred took in a deep inhale and gradually lowered his sword in mercy. I breathed a deep sigh of relief.  

 

            “I knew it!” Lot raged, raising his own weapon. “I knew you would not have the stomach to go through with it.” He shoved Mordred out of the way. “If you will not finish it the I will!”

 

            I struggled desperate to get away. “Father!”

 

            Lot raised his sword, ready for the kill. Just as he was about to strike, Mordred clashed his own weapon against Lot’s and the two broke out in battle. I finally managed to get one arm free and with that hand I pulled out Excalibur and stabbed it right through the stomach of one of the men who held me and made a dash to my father.

 

            “Father!” I gasped once again as I helped him to a seated position.

 

            He brushed back some of my hair from my face. “Isobel, you should not be here.”

 

            My eyes then caught sight of blood from his side. “You are wounded!”

 

            Father shook his head, still breathing heavily. “It is only a scratch.”

 

            Tears began to fill my eyes, as I did not believe him. Father’s face then began to turn pale as he starred past me.

 

            He attempted to rise. “I have to do something. Lot is too strong.”

 

            “No, do not move!” I ordered, my hands furiously digging under my cloak. “Where is it?”

 

            “Where is what, Isobel?” Father asked, still panting.

 

            “Excalibur!” I proclaimed urgently. “I just had it with me.”

 

            I turned my head and let out a horrified gasp once I realized I had dropped it by the soldier I had slain. I stood to my feet to reclaim it but, unfortunately, Lot spotted it too. Running towards it, I leaped of the ground, landing flat on my stomach in front of the fallen sword. Just as I reached my hand out to it, Lot’s boot stepped on it.

 

            Lot picked up Excalibur and sneered, “Very nice sword you brought with you. Why thank you, Princess Isobel.”

 

            He raised his arm ready to strike me down. Before he could, Mordred flung his own sword in between us in rage, prepared to slay Lot. I stumbled up to my feet, watching in terror as I recalled the expression on Morgana’s face once she realized Mordred had left the sword. Before I could even blink, my eyes saw Lot slash this powerful sword right through Mordred’s body.

 

            As I watched him fall to the ground, I wailed out, “Mordred!”

 

            I rushed over to him, cradling his head in my lap, tears streaming down my cheeks. In his fury, Father regained his strength as he rose to his feet, darting towards Lot. With both hands on his own weapon, my father swung it up at Lot, slicing off the hand that held Excalibur. As Lot wallowed in pain, Father then snatched the sword from the ground and pierced it through Lot’s gut.

 

            The instant Lot had fallen, Father rushed back over sinking to his knees beside his son.

 

            “Mordred!” Father spoke urgently as he attempted to dry the blood from his son’s wound. “Mordred, stay with me now!”

 

            Mordred weakly shook his head, muttering, “It is too deep.”

 

            Father, too, shook his head tears filling his eyes, but remained determined. “No, there has to be a way.”

 

            “I am sorry,” Mordred continued weakly, squeezing my hand. “I should not have taken her away.”

 

            “Mordred, please do not speak,” I choked. “You need to rest.”

 

            Still holding my hand, Mordred gazed up to me, his eyes glistening with tears. “Isobel, I want to thank you. If not for you, I would have remained buried in my own hatred. You are the one who showed me a different way of seeing everything and for that I am forever grateful. I will always love you.” He looked up to Father. “Because of her I know now, you are truly a good king and a good father.”

 

            I felt Mordred’s hold on my hand weaken as he let out one final breath, closing his eyes forever.

 

xXx

 

            I had sobbed so much this day, I feel as though my eyes were utterly dried out. Now, my mind mudded, I starred blankly at Mordred’s body as Father held up the torch ready to send his spirit away. The moment the wood around the body was lit, I felt as though a part of me was burning along with him. Father then walked over beside me, putting his arm around my shoulder.

 

            “I am sorry I could not save him,” Father uttered in a tone barely above a whisper. “I know you cared for him deeply.”

 

            “You tried your best,” I answered in a quivering breath.

 

             Father sighed, dolefully. “I wish we could have had more time together, as a family.”

 

            “Me too,” I muttered.

 

            My father then turned his head to face me. “Isobel, Camelot will be honored to have you as its queen.”

 

            As much as I did not wish to ponder this now, I forced out the words, “Perhaps someday.”

 

            Father stroked my cheek and added in a weak voice, “That time is closer than you think.”

 

            I looked into his golden eyes, desperately shaking my head but, alas, he fell to the ground. I saw even more blood had appeared on his side than before.

 

            “I thought you said it was merely a scratch!” I cried out, kneeling beside him.

 

            “It opened up more when I slew Lot,” Father responded in a frail tone.

 

            “Why did you not say anything?” I demanded as the tears returned.

 

            “Isobel, it is okay,” Father consoled. “I knew my time was coming even before the battle. I was prepared for it.”

 

            “No!” I shook my head furiously. “I will not lose you too!”

 

            I rose to my feet, desperately thinking of something I could do. Then an idea hit me. Perhaps magic would work. I remembered as a little girl, Merlin would cure me every time I injured myself. It can heal, I know for certain. I looked back down at my father with hopeful eyes. Mordred’s wound may have been too deep, but Father appeared as though he could hang in just a little longer. I just had to be swift in my mission and hold on to any lingering hope.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 14 The Madness of Merlin

_Chapter 14_

_The Madness of Merlin_

            In desperate search of Nimueh I rode through the forest, my heart throbbing heavily. Being the only person I could think of other than Morgana who possessed magic, I knew this strange woman would be my only hope. I had to find her.

 

            “Nimueh!” I called out in hope that she may hear my cry and appear.

 

            Sadly, nothing happened. I rode by the oak tree she claimed to live in, but she did not linger there. Turning my head to the lake, I let out a gasp and hid behind the tree as I spotted Morgana sitting by the water, gently swaying her fingers in it. Her face was almost unrecognizable without her cold hard look. Instead she appeared broken wearing a hopeless heartbroken expression. She must already know about Mordred.

 

            “Morgana!” a familiar gruff voiced hollered at her.

 

            My jaw dropped and I drew in a sharp breath as my eyes spotted Lot. He must have somehow survived Father’s blow. I clenched my teeth, wishing I had thought to bring Excalibur so I could slay him myself.

 

            Lot limped towards Morgana, still clutching his arm where his hand used to be. “Morgana, I am afraid I have some bad news.”

 

            Ignoring his statement, Morgana merely muttered, “You should not have come to me, Lot.”

 

            “Arthur killed Mordred,” Lot declared taking no heed of her warning. “I tried to save him but failed. I am truly sorry, Morgana.”

 

            I felt my skin crawl with rage at his deceit. Unable to listen to any more, I burst out from behind the tree, pointing my shaking finger directly at Lot.

 

            “Liar!” I roared. “He is the one who killed Mordred! My father tried to save him.”

 

            Morgana turned to face Lot without words, but her eyes told him everything.

 

            Lot took a nervous step back. “You are not actually going to believe her, Morgana. She is the enemy. You said so yourself.”

 

            “I already saw everything,” Morgana murmured darkly, her hand snatching Lot’s neck.

 

            My body froze as I watched in terror of what happened next. Morgana’s touch burned Lot’s neck, causing his face to boil red in agony. This time once he fell, there was no doubt he was dead. Morgana then kicked his corpse into the lake with no emotion appearing on her face.

 

            “Morgana!” I pleaded desperately rushing up to her. “You saw what really happened, did you not?”

 

            Her violet eyes still vacant, she managed a brief nod.

 

            “Then you must know my father tried his best to avenge Mordred’s death,” I continued. “Please, he is dying. Will you not help him?” When she offered no response, I added, “It is what Mordred would have wanted. This, I know for sure. Please, Morgana.”

 

            After a lengthy pause, she nodded. “Take me to him.”

 

xXx

 

            I brought Morgana to the temple near Mordred’s burial where I had left my father on a cushion. His still breathed only now his chest seemed to move up and down more slowly than earlier.

 

            Morgana slowly sank down beside him. “Hello, brother.”

 

            Father opened his eyes, blinking them several times. “Morgana?”

 

            “I am sorry, Father,” I said quickly. “She is the only one I could find.”

 

            Appearing slightly dazed, he gradually raised his hand up to her face. “You are just as beautiful as I remember.”

 

            “Shh, brother. Do not speak.” Morgana moved her hand, uncovering his wound.

 

            “I tried to save him,” Arthur continued, heartbroken. “I wanted to save our son.”

 

            “I know, Arthur. I know,” Morgana replied in a wisp tone, and then stood up. “The wound is too deep. My magic is not strong enough to heal it.”

 

            “What?” I gasped. “You did not even try!”

 

            “I know my own limitations,” she responded grimly. “There is only one with great enough power to heal that wound.”

 

            “Who?” I demanded.

 

            “I believe you already know,” she muttered.

 

            My heart sank, as I understood. “If it is Merlin you speak of, how are we supposed to locate him? He has not been spotted in years.”

 

            Morgana took in a deep breath and then admitted, “I know where he is.”

 

            Not wanting to waste any more time, I insisted that she immediately show me to him. Although she seemed hesitant and ever fearful, Morgana agreed.

 

            She then took me to the very location we were just at by the lake. When her eyes pointed to the oak tree Nimueh claimed to live in, I finally understood the mystery. All this time, Merlin had been trapped inside that very tree.

 

            “It was not Nimueh who was responsible for Merlin’s disappearance,” Morgana explained, lifting up her hand. “It was I who trapped him here.”  

 

            She muttered something I did not understand. Once those words flowed from her mouth, the tree began to open with fog gushing out from inside. I then saw a man in a blue cloak with short graying blonde hair, wearing a thin rusty golden crown. As this man I assumed to be Merlin emerged from the tree, dust fell from his robes. He stumbled about muttering words I could not make out at a rapid pace.

 

            “Merlin!” Morgana vociferated in attempt to bring his mind to reality.

 

            The moment Merlin’s eyes descended to the sorceress, they grew dark. “Morgana.”

 

            “Arthur is dying,” Morgana explained calmly.

 

            “I know!” Merlin bellowed, his fraying hair appearing to rise. “I see everything, even while trapped in that tree! I know just what you have done, and I believe you know what I must do next.”

 

            She sighed, gazing down and whispered, “I do.”

 

            The next thing I knew, Merlin pulled out a dagger from his sleeve and cleaved it right between Morgana’s lungs. She barely managed one last breath as her body fell dead before she even hit the ground.

 

            Horrified, I rushed over to her and screamed, “Has there not been enough bloodshed!”

 

            Not paying me the slightest attention, Merlin continued to mumble nonsense as he rapidly paced around us. This man seemed even more mad than I imagined.

 

            Remembering Father, I stood up and shouted, “Merlin!”

 

            He stopped muttering and turned to face me.

 

            “We need to go to my father,” I stated firmly as hot water rose within my eyes.

 

            Merlin lifted his hand up, only to drop it down by his side. “Arthur is dead.”

 

            As the tears began to run down my cheeks, I shook my head. “No, no he is not yet. He is gravely injured. We must…”

 

            “He just past on a moment ago,” Merlin interrupted glumly, putting his hand to his head.

 

            In dismay, I began to sob realizing now everything is hopeless. From this moment on, I could not think of a reason to go on with life. I fell to my knees in sorrow, picking up the dagger from Morgana’s body. Without Merlin’s notice, I pointed it directly at my beating heart and closed my eyes. That instant, I felt the cold wind of a vision hit me once again. This time I saw myself, cradling an infant child. Knowing what this meant, my shivering fingers dropped the dagger. I simply sat in astonishment over what my new premonition revealed.

 

Merlin brushed over and pulled me back up.

 

            “Isobel, we must go,” Merlin insisted. “I know you need time to grieve, but it is important we leave now.”

 

            “Go?” I breathed unable to wrap my mind around the prospect. “Go where?”

 

            “To Camelot, of course,” Merlin ranted on, proceeding to drag me along. “The kingdom needs a ruler now more than ever.”

 

            “I do not want to,” I mumbled like a child.

 

            “Come on, Isobel, you must,” Merlin demanded.

 

            “I am with child,” I mumbled, tears still falling from my eyes. “Mordred’s child.”

 

            Merlin let out a huff, solemnly shaking his head, muttering, “This cannot be happening again.” He then paused momentarily to ponder. “Alright, we can make this work. You must get rid of the child now, and then you can assume your rightful place on the throne.”

 

            “No,” I muttered, trying to pull away.

 

            “Isobel, you must,” Merlin declared continuing to pull me. “For the sake of Camelot, this is your only option.”

 

            In fury I jerked my hand away. “I said no!”

 

            “Isobel!” Merlin gasped, appalled by my outburst. “You are heir to the throne.”

 

            “I will not sacrifice my family for the sake of Camelot!” I stammered in fury. “I refuse to wear the crown!”

 

            “You are the only one!” Merlin raged back. “If not you then who would rule?”

 

            I took a moment and then an idea approached my mind. “Gawain.”

 

            “What?” Merlin asked, taken back by my sudden suggestion.

 

            “Gawain will be king,” I stated firmly. “I know him. He will do much good for the kingdom.”

 

            Merlin let out an irritated breath. “That will not work, Isobel. He must be named.”

 

            “Fine then.” I wiped the tears from my eyes and turned to face him, announcing with great boldness, “I, Isobel Pendragon, hereby name Prince Gawain as heir to the throne of Camelot.”

 

            Realizing he had no other option, Merlin took a bow. “As you command, Princess Isobel. Gawain will rule as the next High King.”

 

            The next thing I knew, Merlin had vanished, smoke hovering above where he just stood. I breathed out a sigh of relief though my depression returned. I sat back down placing my feet in the lake thinking of those I have lost. I gently touched my hand to my womb. At least, I will have a part of both Father and Mordred with me, always.

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

            In madness, the people stammered about the castle debating on what to do next. With no ruler, Camelot could fall forever. Gawain stood by his mother and watched wishing there was something he could do. He gazed over to Catrin, the servant girl he confided so much in these past few weeks, but now she could only offer a shrug.

 

            “Mother,” Gawain asked in dismay. “What will happen to Camelot now that Arthur is gone?”

 

            Morgause sighed and put her arm around him. “I know not, Gawain.”

 

            “And what of Isobel?” he continued. “What happened to her?”

 

            “She still has not been sighted,” she answered her son, dolefully.

 

            As Gawain thought of his cousin, he prayed for her safety. He knew there was slim chance of her ever returning. The prospect of ruling together as king and queen felt like a distant dream. Gawain knew Isobel never truly loved him in that way. Even when she kissed him, he could tell. The only thoughts that caused a greater wound were those of his father. Gawain wished he could feel the slightest bit of shock over Lot’s alliance with Morgana, but alas, he did not.

 

            The castle doors then burst open, and a grisly man wearing a blue cloak stormed in, muttering something under his breath. As he brushed down the center isle, the people rapidly shattered out of his way.

 

            “Mother,” Gawain asked nervously. “Who is that man?”

 

            “Merlin,” she gasped and then frantically waved her hands. “Everyone bow!”

 

            The crowd appeared to not need any further insistence as they fell silent and sank to their knees. Gawain dropped behind Morgause, fearful of even looking up. The instant Merlin passed him, he halted.

 

            “What are you doing down there, boy?” Merlin growled. “Are you not aware a king never kneels down?”

 

            Gawain shot a brief puzzled glance at his mother. She merely nodded her head in Merlin’s direction telling him to go up to the throne. Trying not to stumble from nerves, Gawain slowly approached this strange wizard standing by the throne.

 

            Merlin slapped his hand on Gawain’s shoulder, looking him directly in the eye. “You are never to bow down to anyone ever again. Do you understand me?”

 

            “Not even to you, sir?” Gawain asked in a shivering tone.

 

            For a moment, Merlin only starred at him, but then covered his mouth as he bellowed out laughing. Gawain, too, let out a nervous giggle. The rest of the courtroom looked at each other, unsure of how to react.

 

            Merlin then came to a sudden stop and held up his finger. “Seriously, though, you bow to no one.”

 

            The wizard then pulled out a crown from his robes and placed it on Gawain’s head. Once Merlin gave everyone a sharp look, the crowd applauded.

 

            Even though he still found this man intimidating, Gawain turned to Merlin and asked, “Sir, where is the Princess Isobel?”

 

            Merlin sighed as he vaguely replied, “Princess Isobel will not be returning to Camelot. Her final wish before departure was that you be named High King. She saw something in you, Gawain… the way she spoke…” He paused and turned to face Gawain with foggy eyes. “I see it too. You, my boy will indeed be the one to restore peace in Camelot and the kingdom will be more prosperous than ever under your rule. Isobel already knew it, and now so do I.”

 

            Gawain simply gazed at him, unsure of how to respond to all this. He never imagined he would be that great a king who would do vast good for the people. It was only a dream. Could this dream become reality? One thing Gawain promised himself in all sureness is he would do whatever it takes and make any sacrifices needed, for the sake of his people as their king.

 

_The End_

 

 

 

 


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